


FOR PATRIOTISM, FOR FOOTBALL

by asiriuswriter, srk1o3



Series: FOR THE WIN [3]
Category: FOX NFL Sunday RPF, NFL Rush Zone
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, None of this Eagles bullshit, Other, Still goin strong with the avocados unfortunately, WE BETTER FUCKIN WIN THE SUPERBOWL THIS YEAR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 25,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asiriuswriter/pseuds/asiriuswriter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/srk1o3/pseuds/srk1o3
Summary: This is horrible, guys. We friggen lost the SuperBowl last year and it was horrible.Are we over it? No.But guess fucking what? We are going to WIN this year.There ain't no other word in the dictionary at this point.Tom Brady is back for blood. So, like... watch out.2018 is going to be OUR  year. Let's take it back for the win.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the first installment of the NFL FOR THE WIN PART 3.
> 
> Brady invites the entire team back to his home to immediately rewatch the first preseason game. (He and Gisele are having some troubles though..)

"Meu amor..." Giselle started hesitantly, "Are you _sure_ it's a good idea to invite the entire team over to our house?"

Tom Brady licked his lips, tone clipped, "Te amo but... are you _really_ going to do this right now."

Giselle flinched. It hurt when there weren't a billion heart emojis to lighten the blow that was his real life voice. Tom was just... different in person then he was via Instagram comments and it was beginning to hurt her. She thought of the book she'd be publishing soon and if her heart were standing on the edge of a mountain then it chose that moment to not jump. "Tom..."

"Giselle, come on." Tom groaned, smiling wide ~~and fake~~. "Be a good sport! We just won the first game of the preseason. Let me have this, will ya?"

"You shouldn't even still be pla-"

 _"Don't."_ The smile was gone. 

Giselle shivered and kept silent. "You aren't like this on Instagram..."

"All you ever fucking do is comment on my pictures with _te amo_." Tom blurted in a hushed shout, and it brought about another round of terrible silence. 

"Is that really how you feel, Mr. Oldest Quarterback Ever?" Gisele snapped.

Tom's face went red and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. He looked regretful. "I'm _sorry_ , I'm so sorry... I just- te amo; you _know_ that. It's just. It's the start of the season and I need you to support me."

"Nobody supports you MORE than me. When will you realize that? Seus quadris não são feitos de pedra." A harsh breath escaped her before she turned away and stomped off.

Tom rolled his eyes and turned back to the ENTIRE Patriots team (including Bill Belichick- in fact, this was HIS idea) filtering into his living room to watch the first game of the preseason.  

_Just then... everything seemed to happen in snippets; moments. Dialogue passed between the boys lightening fast ----_

* * *

_**Brian Hoyer:** _ Get your _old_  self over here, Tom! Age slowin' you down?

 _ **Tom Brady:** _ Sit your ass down, Hoyer.

 _ **Brian Hoyer:** _...*clears throat*

 _ **Bill Belichick:**_  Do I look like I have all night. Play the tape.

 _ **Julian Edelman:**_   You and Gisele are goals, Tom. *sighs* Anyways. All right, I think I just put it on. 

 _ **Tom Brady:**_   :/ ... Is this the fucking _Dolphins_ _game_?

 _ **Julian Edelman:**_ OH ShiT um...Yeah w-why... did I record tHAT? I uh, I dunno.. must've recorded it on accident. Anyways.... Oh OH, here it is. Pats versus Redskins!

 _ **Tom Brady:**_  Why'd you record the Dolphins game, Jules?..

 _ **Julian Edelman:**_ Tom... it was an _accident_.

 _ **Braxton Berrios:**_ Oh, Edelman! Isn't Danny Amendola with the Dolphins now? We should watch that later to see him play!

 _ **Julian Edelman:** _ Uh.

 _ **Tom Brady** (sadly) **:**_ You miss Danny, huh Jules?

 _ **Danny Etling:** _ Did someone say Danny?!

 _ **Bill Belichick:**  _Handle him, Izzo.

 _ **Ryan Izzo:**_ Danny _Amendola_ , not you, Etling.

 _ **Danny Etling:**_ Oh! 

 _ **Bill Belichick:**_ Play the tape. Don't got all night.

 _ **Tom Brady** (mumbling under breath) **:**_ You gonna watch Amendola after?

 _ **Julian Edelman** (also mumbling):_ I... I...

 _ **Tom Brady:**_ Forget I asked.

 _ **Eric Decker:**_ Hey Jules. If you wanna watch the Dolphins game later I'll watch it with you.

 _ **Tom Brady** (to himself) **:**_  Fuckin kidding me.

 _ **Eric Decker:**_ ...

 ** _Julian Edelman:_** I dunno, Eric. Thanks though.

 _ **Bill Belichick:** _ I'm leaving. If you're not five minutes early to practice tomorrow- turn around and go home. Night.

 _ **Danny Etling:** _ Goodnight, co--- *mouth gets covered by Ryan Izzo's hand*

_**Ryan Izzo:** Can you fucking just shut the fuck up?!_

_**Danny Etling:**_ Why are you so _aggressive_?

 _ **Stephen Gostkowski** :_ Love it when _you're_ aggressive, Ryan. 

 _ **Ryan Izzo:** _... thank you.

 _ **Stephen Gostkowski:**_  Um- sorry. _Not_ _you_.~

 _ **Ryan Izzo:**_ ...oh, thank Christ. 

 ** _Stephen Gostkowski:_  **Rude.~

 _ **Ryan Allen:**_ I love that you love when I get aggressive, Stevie. 

 _ **Stephen Gostkowski:**_ I ~love~ that you love that.

 _ **Chris Hogan:**_ *smiles fondly at them* 

 _ **Patrick Chung:**_ *makes gagging noise* 

 _ **Rob Gronkowksi:**_ YAY!!!!!! It's finally on!!!!!! 

 **Brian Hoyer:**  There I go! I shouldn't have thrown it so soon there though. Sorry, guys.

 **Tom Brady:** Yeah, that was an _interesting_ decision on your part.

 **Brian Hoyer:** Well... it was the _first_ play of the _first_ game of the preseason so...

 **Tom Brady:** *yawns*

 **Stephon Gilmore:** What the hell was _that_?

 _ **Patrick Chung:**_ What was what?

 _ **Stephon Gilmore:**_ NOTHING............

 ** _Patrick Chung:_** *squinting* O..kay...

 _ **Julian Edelman:** _ God. It felt so good to be out there again.

 _ **Rob Gronkowski:** _ You played really great you tiny squirrel boy!!! Just like you didn't miss ALL of last year HAH!

 _ **Tom Brady:**_ It was amazing to see you out there, Jules.

 _ **Julian Edelman**_ (blushing) **:** Thanks, boys. 

 _ **Eric Decker:**_ You're so good at what you do.

 _ **Tom Brady:**_ He's incredible.

 _ **Stephen Gostkowski:**_ Shush up, everyone!! Watch me as I follow through!!~

 _ **Ryan Allen:** _ Did you see how he just followed through!!??

 _ **Patrick Chung:**_  Ugh yes. We saw it. WE SAW IT. We ALL saw it. OH MY FUCKING  _G O D_.

 _ **Danny Etling:**_ What a great game! If only Mr. Brady got to play!

 _ **Tom Brady:**_  Please stop calling me that.

 ** _Danny Etling:_** _NEVARRR_!! Nyahhh!!! Hehehohohahaaaaaa! That's my impression of Anime Nyan Cat Girl! 

 ** _Everyone:_** *groaning in unison* 


	2. TB12 vs. Inner Demons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the first Pre-Season game and what's been happening for the Patriots this week.  
> Let's just say, Tom Brady isn't pleased.  
> And we're looking forward to the Eagles vs. Patriots REMATCH game this Thursday.  
> Tom is ready, but clearly agitated. Let's see how he reacts to being in the same space as Nick Foles again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading you angels. <3

**LOCATION** : Gillette Stadium Locker Room  
**WHEN** : Pre-Season opener; Patriots vs. Redskins  
**TIME** : Half-time  


**Tom:** Are you kidding me?  
**Brian:** Listen. ( _Brian tugs on a pair of low-cut socks, which Tom notices oddly resemble his face_ ).  
**Tom:** I'm listening, Hoyer.  
**Brian:** I'll do better.  
**Tom:** You'd better. These _unique_ decisions on when and where to throw the ball are going to cost us. ( _Mumbles_ ): Thank god we're a comeback team. Even he can handle the Redskins.  
**Danny Etling:** I got this! Coach is going to put me in! COACH IS GOING TO PUT ME IN!  
**Brian:** Not _yet_.  
**Danny:** Eventualllyyy. He's  _got to._ I'm going to go  _so super fast_ ( _Starts demonstrating super speed by zig zagging around a few OLs).  
_**Ryan Izzo:** You gotta be fucking kidding me.

* * *

Tom's hands balled into fists as the screen in his living room reflected the second half of the game. Even in his oversized home, things were cramped with all of the Patriots there. It was always different watching a game when he wasn't on the field, or even the sidelines. He could  _see everything._ Could  _see_ which players were open, where the missed opportunities fell. Brian Hoyer, god damn that son of a gun, had a  _lot_ of missed opportunities...

 **Sony Michele:** Sorry I couldn't play, guys.  
**Isaiah Wynn:** Hey, you take care of you, bro.  
**Gronk:** Look at that one! WEBB! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?  
**Webb:** That's right, boys. You better FIGHT for me. You see those scores I made?  
**Mike Gillislee:** We better sign that boy.  
**Webb:** You did good, too, man. I seen you like a rocket out there.  
**Mike:** Shucks, man.  
**Stephon Gilmore:** Did you see what I did?  
**Mike:** Yeah, we did.  
**Stephen Gostkowski:** EVERYONE SHUT UP! Look at me! I'm FOLLOWING THROUGH AGAIN!  
**Webb:** Only after I scored a TD...  
**Ryan Allen:** Great job, babe.  
**Tom:** Yeah, you all played well. Well, most of you ( _Side eyes Brian Hoyer_ ).  
**Brian:** Man, I really should have made that throw. Can't believe I got sacked...  
**Tom:** I can.  
**Danny:** Mr. Brady, you're too hilarious.  
**Tom:** Tom. It's  _Tom.  
_**Danny:** Whatever you say, Mr. Brady.  
**Julian:** *snorts* Oh, Rookies.  
**Tom:** *smiles fondly at Julian*  
**Donta:** We did  _good_!  
**Gronk:** Oh hey, the Dolphins lost ( _looks up from his phone_ ).  
**Tom** : So? How's that new?  
**Julian:** *shifts in discomfort*  
**Gronk:** Betchya Amendola wishing he still with us, Ha- HA!  
**Tom:** *shrugs* He'll do well where he is.  
**Gronk:** He dove for a catch and Tannehill overshot.   
**Danny Etling:** You wouldn't have overshot, Mr. Brady.  
**Tom:** Yeah. I'd have to see the play.  
**Gronk:** I got a replay right here on my phone!  
**Tom:** Thought we were watching  _our_ game.  
**Gronk:** Oh. Right. God, that collar is too tight on me ( _stares at screen where he's pulling on the neck of his jersey and begins pulling at his shirt_ ).   
**Danny Etling:** OH MY GOD IT'S MY TURN! LOOK GUYS! LOOK HOW I SHOT THAT BALL AND-- LOOK HOW GOOD I--  
**Ryan Izzo:** * _claps a hand over Danny's mouth*_  
**Stephen Gostkowski:** Aaaannnnd that's a wrap! Great hustle guys. Great comeback!  
**Tom:** There's a lot to work on, boys. You all have to go home, watch this game over and over, look for where things went wrong and where things went right. Study it. And I'll see you all at practice.

* * *

It was good that they won the first game, though it really shouldn't have taken so long to pull ahead of the Redskins. Tom knew it boosted morale after coming off a lost Super Bowl. Unfortunately for him, he didn't feel that boosted morale himself without having played and having only sat on the damn sidelines, watching Brian fuck up play after play. Danny showed  _some_ promise, but the boy's eagerness was really driving him up a wall.

What stuck out most, however, was watching the way Eric Decker watched Julian. Having been in the thick of conversation with his friend, ~~his _more than friend,_~~ he hadn't been focused on the way Decker was looking at Jules. At least the playback had shown him that much. And he couldn't help but notice, when everyone left his house for the night, Eric and Julian dismissed themselves at the exact same time. 

* * *

Alex Smith woke up with a start the day after his new team got beat by the Patriots. He had been  _so sure_ they would win- especially with the deflated balls! Of course, he didn't blame himself. He  _hadn't_ been on the field. 

An ESPN alert lit up his phone as he rolled over.

 _STEELERS VS. EAGLES-  
_ Suspicion of deflated balls used in the pre-season game. More as information develops.

Alex felt his heart speed in his chest as he opened his texts.

 **Case Keenum:** I fucked up. Wrong stadium!

Alex groaned into his pillow before punching it until his knuckles bled.

* * *

 

 **LOCATION** : Gillette Stadium field

 **WHEN** : Monday, Practice  


"Alright, go long," Tom shouted. Julian, Eric Decker, and Rowe took off down the field. Jules kept his eyes on Tom as faked left, then right as the defense piled up on him and TB12 threw it hard...

.... It landed straight in Julian's outstretched arms.

Over. And over. And over. And over until sweat covered Julian's jersey and he was panting from exhaustion. It was  _hot_ despite scattered showers and he was just ready to take a bit of a break.

Maybe this was too much, maybe Tom needed to find another target. As much as Jules loved being Tom's go-to and as much as he was happy to be back on the field, he  _did_ have that four game suspension.

"Hey uh- Toemas," Jules murmured as he came in for a drink of water. His eyes were anywhere  _but_ on Brady. They studied a group of Defensive Linemen running into massive padded walls, pushing them back with strength Jules's petite frame would never allow. Behind them, Gronk was dancing with Derek Rivers and Matthew Slater as he spiked a ball. "I think you ought to target someone else, man. I mean-- not that I don't  _appreciate_ being your go-to." There was a creeping pink blush that crawled over his cheeks and neck, a smile stretching across his lips. "But, you know, give Decker some practice time, too, yeah? He'll be playing for me for the first four."

Tom squinted, but his face was otherwise unreadable. They said nothing else as Coach blew his whistle to start the next practice play.

Julian got in line to get himself open, but he kept a careful eye on Tom as he ran. The legendary GOAT found his eyes, but in the last minute, he sent the ball flying towards Eric Decker. The other Wide Receiver caught, then promptly dropped the ball.

An explosion of curses echoed through Gillette as Tom shook his head and heaved. "Do it again!" he screamed. 

So they did. Again and again Decker missed or dropped the ball. And each time, Tom's face grew more and more red. Julian was certain he was going to explode. A part of him wanted to reach out and offer Tom a pat on the back, but he knew this was Tom's way to  _deal_ with his frustrations. Better to get it out here than on the game field where he was more likely to be captured and put into a meme.

"WHITE!" Tom screamed suddenly after Eric dropped the ball for the dozenth time. James skidaddled up to the line of scrimmage and Julian watched as Tom bent his head low to talk to the short running back. James looked  _so damn happy._

The play was in action. This time, Julian stood on the sidelines next to Decker, whose chest was heaving and whose face was red. "Tough luck, man," Jules offered. Eric kicked a water bottle.

"He just makes me so fucking nervous."

"Used to do the same for me. You'll get used to it."

"Fucking hope so."

"Just relax."

As they conversed, the play began. Tom jogged backwards as some Defensive players threatened him. He threw it hard.

Julian watched James diving for the ball, but Tom  _overshot._

* * *

 

 _"You wouldn't have overshot, Mr. Brady."_  
"You wouldn't have overshot, Mr. Brady."  
"You wouldn't have overshot, Mr. Brady."

Danny Etling's voice echoed in Tom's head as he watched the ball sail beyond James White's reach.

For a moment...  _calm._

There was a stillness in Gillette. Every single eye was upon him. No one moved. Bill Belichick had his hands in front of him, frozen as he stopped directing Kyle Van Noy and Coradelle Patterson, his eyes on Tom Brady. Josh McDaniels paused mid-conversation with Kenny Britt and Rex Burkehead, his eyes traveling to Tom Brady. Matthew Slater, Ryan Allen, Stephen Gostkowski, Adrian Clayborn, the McCourty twins, Duron Harmon, and David Andrews stopped their stretching to watch Tom Brady. Mike Gillislee, Stephon Gilmore, Ryan Izzo, Jonathon Jones, and Brandon Bolden all stopped running to watch Tom Brady. Not a single person looked anywhere but at Tom Brady.

"Throw it back!" Tom called. There was a collective breath as James hustled, tossing the ball back to Tom. He caught it swiftly and for just a single breath of a second, everyone thought it would be okay. 

But then.

Tom took several running steps, dropped the ball in front of him, and punted it straight into the stands with an animalistic scream. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Alex Guerrero tried to keep his tone light, "So ya punted the ball! Big whoop. Who cares?"

"Everyone." Tb12 groaned.

Guerrero went back to sharply kneading the sides of his hands into Tom's back thigh muscles at a million miles per second. "So ya had a moment! We _all_ have them."

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better but..." Tom buried his face into the pillow he'd been resting his head upon as Guerrero did his TB12 magic.

"Listen Tom." Guerrero began. "This game on Thursday.. I just don't think you should take it too seriously.... It's just a preseason game and--"

"WHAT?" Tom yanked his legs away from Guerrero and jumped up off the board he'd  been laying on. "What gives YOU the right to tell me what I should and shouldn't take seriously?! This is the Eagles and I have a reputation to defend." 

"It's just a preseason game is all I'm saying..."

"Yeah well it's more than that to _me_."

* * *

 

"Tom..." Julian sighed into the phone he held pressed against his face. 

Tom was on the other line, voice shaking and breaking after every other word. "I can't do this..." he whispered into the line.

"Yea, you can." Julian stated calmly. "You _can_. And I'll be right there by your side throughout the whole thing _helping_ you."

"I dunno how I did it all last year without ya."  Tom breathed on the other line. 

Julian found himself gripping the phone tighter in his hands. "Well, for starters you had Amendola with you..." Julian could hear Tom's sigh from the other line. "And he was a great receiver to you."

"Mr. Playoffs." Stated Brady all distraught.

"Yeah. Exactly." 

"Amendola was great, Jules, but... he wasn't you. Nobody is you. I really need you tonight."

"You got me tonight." Julian responded immediately. "You got me whenever I can be there for you. You know that."

"I do."

"We're gonna do this tonight just like we should've during the Super Bowl."

"Yeah..." Tom sighed once again. Julian wasn't sure if he could remember the last time Tom Brady had been so openly upset with him. So honest. So raw. Julian loved this aspect of their relationship. Where they were both do goddamn real with each other. "I promise, Tom, that I won't let you down out there."

"I know you won't." There was something new in Tom's voice now. Something warm. It had Julian smiling.

They were definitely going to beat the Eagles tonight.


	4. Eagles Can't Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's determination to beat the Eagles is taking new heights.   
> Julian is feeling confident in more ways than one.  
> Nick Foles wants a second chance to do what he couldn't in the Super Bowl.   
> Gronk notices something's off in the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, last night's game was quite an EPIC WIN, don't you think? :)   
> LETS GO BOYS.

"Mr. Brady, are you _sure_ you should play? It's _just_ a preseason gam--"

Ryan Izzo's left arm rose before Danny Etling could finish his sentence. His fist connected with Danny's jaw and sent the young Quarterback flying back.

"It's _not_ **JUST** a preseason game."

Tom's breathing was even. His hands remained slack at his sides. His posture hadn't changed. But there was _something_ in his eyes that was burning a deep, fiery red. Danny stared up at Tom, his eyes wide with fear.

"Okay, Mr. Brady. You're right," he mumbled, averting his eyes. He just _could not_ maintain eye contact, not with _the beast_ that was Tom Brady.

Tom turned towards the opening that lead to the Gillette Stadium field from the hall of the locker room. Julian was beside him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. The petite Wide Receiver shoved his helmet over his head and grinned up at Tom with a confidence Tom hadn't seen in him for quite some time. Maybe the Electrolytes were working in healing his best target.

"You ready?" Jules asked.

"Ready," Tom said confidently.

The music blared, the announcer came over the loudspeaker, and they ran onto the field to sounds of cheers. Pats Nation was in fine form tonight.

Julian made it to the other end of the field before half the team even got onto the field. His squirrelly legs pumped and pumped.

When Tom caught up to him, he laughed, clapping the other on the shoulder. "That was fast."

"I'm READY!"

* * *

"Nick," Doug Pederson's hand was resting on Nick Foles' shoulder. Tucked under Nick's arm was his copy of _Believe It; My Journey of Success, Failure, and Overcoming Odds._ Doug discretely reached towards the book and began inching it out from beneath his grasp slowly, slowly taking it away from him. Nick nodded repeatedly, over and over and over, his eyes distant. "Nick? You ready?"

Nick licked his lips and blinked into focus.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not mad that he snubbed me, ha. It's okay that he didn't shake my hand. I get it. Tom's a great guy. I've talked to him before," Nick replied automatically. The screen in the locker room showed the Patriots running around the field, pumping up their fans. Behind him, Lane Johnson crushed a can of diet Coke on his forehead and barked repeatedly in Chris Long's face before Chris moved on and Lane continued barking in the faces of every Rookie, every teammate, and every coach.

"Nick," Nate Sudfeld said. "Don't worry, man. I'm going to help you out there."

"I don't _need help,"_ Nick said, his eyes glued to Tom Brady on the screen. Those confident eyes. The smile. The way he carried himself across the field with grace and elegance. The oldest Quarterback in the league and the _best_ one of all time. His attempt to seduce Tom Brady had backfired; but maybe...

...maybe there was still a chance.

With a deep breath, Nick shoved his helmet on.

"I'm ready," he whispered.

* * *

"HERK YER!" 

A rogue fan wearing oversized sunglasses and a rather artificial-looking red-white-and-blue mustache and an _extremely_ oversized #87 jersey did his best to start a wave throughout the audience; but no one paid him any mind.

"SH'GOOD SHTUFF!" he shouted, the mustache blocking his mouth and obscuring his words slightly. The Gronkowski jersey came down to his knees and was stained green from grass smudges with dirt caked into the sides.

* * *

 

"Who the heck's that guy?" Gronk asked as he stood on the sidelines, his back towards the field.

"Mr. Gronkowski, you're facing the wrong way," Danny Etling said, reaching over the tap Gronk on the shoulder.

"That lil fella up there," he said, his arm outstretched as he pointed to the man in the #87 jersey and outrageous mustache in the stadium. Danny turned around and looked, his eyes squinting up towards the audience as the guy in the #87 jersey leapt like five feet in the air and caught a rogue ball another fan had thrown.

"Wait a hot second! I know who that is! I'd know that _clutch anywhere,_ " a massive smile broke over Gronk's face and he ran without warning.

* * *

 

Tom inhaled a long breath. He pointed to his head with both hands, tapping on his temples. Background noise lowered to a dull buzz as he went into _laser focus_ mode. Tom clapped, his foot coming down, and the ball was soaring towards his awaiting hands. Tom caught it then sent it sailing down the field.

It was like auto-pilot.

Again and again Tom grabbed the ball, threw it, passed it, threw it, watching as his teammates worked in near-perfect synchronicity. This was his _zone._ Nothing else _mattered._

Touchdown.

Field goal.

His heart soared as stood on the sidelines.

"Doing well, huh?" Julian's voice chirped in his ear. Tom smiled brightly.

"Looks like it. Gotta keep up this momentum."

"We will," Jules murmured. "Don't worry. And-- _after_ the game?"

Tom swallowed tightly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He glanced sidelong at Julian.

"We'll talk about that _after_ the game."

Jules gave him a cocky smile and sat back, stretching his arms. "Yeah we will."

* * *

Nick Foles had the ball in hand. His head pivoted left then right, _searching,_ searching for an open teammate. It had been _so_ intimidating, far more than he thought it ever would be, to watch Tom Brady in his _goddamn prime._ This was _not_ what he'd been expecting! He'd come to New England with hopes of a Super Bowl repeat. His _team_ was counting on him. Carson Wentz was counting on him. All of Philly was counting on him!

But _this-_ this was _hard._

Before he knew what hit him, _someone_ hit him. 

A massive body propelled towards him at a thousand miles per hour. He tried to break away, tried to get rid of the ball, but it was too late. His arm was knocked back, the ball fell from his fingertips, and Nick spun to the ground, crouching with an animalistic cry.

"MY SHOULDER!" he screamed, a massive sob loosing from his throat. He wrapped his other arm around the agonized pain that shot through his shoulder. When Nick glanced up, it was just in time to see a Patriot grab the forced fumbled ball and take off like a rocket towards the end zone. Seconds later, sounds erupted through the stadium.

The Patriots had scored.

All of a sudden, he was surrounded by medics. Nick shook his head.

"No!" he screamed. "NO!" He was thrown onto a stretcher and rushed off the field. "NO! NOOO!" He was in so much pain; but it wasn't entirely in his arm.

It was also in his heart.

Nick's eyes found Brady from across the field just before he was shoved into the medical clinic, the door closing with a resounding _click_. He was going to miss his chance at seducing _the_ Tom Brady once and for all.

* * *

"DANNYYY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Gronk shouted as he wrapped his arms around the little fella in the stadium, lifting him off his feet. The mustache moved just enough to reveal Danny Amendola's familiar face. 

"Hey- Shut up, man. I'm in a disguise," he mumbled against Gronk's chest; but it was too late. Everyone around them had noticed the very noticeable Gronk. They were reaching out to touch him, to ask for his autograph, to take photos.

"Robert," a security guard came up behind Danny's friend; a Patriot he missed _so much it hurt._ He didn't have a chance to say anything else as Rob was carted off, back towards the field. The last thing he saw was Rob's goofy grin sending him a massive wink.

"I gochyou," Rob called. Danny covered his face and sunk back down into his seat, sobbing.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the words of that 90's song by (I believe) Stained: "It's been a while." ... since we last updated this fic.  
> Speaking of that.  
> It's also been a while since we won a freaking game.  
> I mean the fucking Lions just beat us.  
> So that song is actually really appropriate right about now. 
> 
> Anyways, this is my attempt at writing for the first time in forever. #frozen.  
> (I just keep quoting songs.)
> 
> ALSO. Jimmy G just got knocked out of the season with a torn ACL tonight & that makes me sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (UH. i didn't realize i could add extra notes before a chapter. Wow I wish it wasn't 12:35 am. I want to do so much more stuff other than sleep. hence me writing this.)

So much had happened.   
_So much._  

For starters, Danny Amendola had dropped his disguise and instead taken up shaving his legs; a life changing decision on his part, and one which helped him cope with the _burn_ of being on the Dolphins. It was lonely for him, sure, but he was making friends. Their team wasn't even doing too bad.

"Two out of three games won so far. What you think 'bout that, Dola?" Ryan Tannehill bumped shoulders with Danny at the Dolphin's stadium smacks/refreshment stand that The Dolphins always set up during each half hour long practice. 

A hesitant smile formed on Danny's lips, and he stopped himself from saying _better than expected_. "I think it's great, Ryan."

"Really don't think I would've been able to do it without you." 

Danny nodded, still smiling weakly. "I guess we just got a connection." 

"Fuck yeah, we do. And next week's going to be _so_  damn easy."

"Next week... y-yea..." Danny picked up a small red cup of fruit punch and took a sugary gulp. 

Ryan grabbed a paper plate and started to pour some potato chips onto it. "The Patriots have been _sucking_ _ass_ , right?"

Danny's brows popped up as he swallowed more Hawaiian punch. "Don't underestimate them." 

"What's that?" Ryan suddenly sounded extremely offended, and Danny cringed. 

"I.. I mean, _yeah_... they have been fucking it up big time." Danny nearly choked on his drink when he felt Ryan's hand on the back of his neck. 

Ryan's was quieter when he spoke this time, "Bet Brady wishes he still had you on his team..."

Danny immediately shook his head and handed his empty red cup to Albert Wilson, who was on snack duty during this practice. Albert took the cup with a bright smile and put it in a plastic bag labeled trash.

"Want some popcorn, Danny?"

"No thanks, Al." 

"I bet Brady thinks about you every time he loses a game." Ryan interrupted.

"I don't think he does." Danny admitted with a pinched expression. And then he mumbled, "I think he's thinking about someone else."

"Hey-- Danny?" Albert piped. 

"Yeah man?"

"You gonna be okay next week... you know... going up against the Pats and all?"

Danny could practically feel Ryan's heated gaze on him as he waited for Danny's reply. He licked his lips and squared his jaw. "We're gonna kick them while they're down. And then we're gonna kick them some more." Saying it out loud hurt more than he thought it would, but Ryan loved it.

The Dolphins quarterback was laughing and patting Danny on the shoulder saying, "That's my boy." 

Danny ached. But instead of thinking about Brady he thought of the Nivea Men Body Shaving Stick awaiting his hairy legs in his locker.

 

* * *

 

"Ah fuck. _Not again_." Phillip Dorsett rubbed his fingertips into his eyes and temples before trying and failing to crack his neck. Discomfort racked his body. "The Patriots Plane is gone again." 

"He _didn't_." Stephen Gostkowski gasped.

"He _did_." Dorsett replied dully.

"Son of a-" Bill Belichick reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone -- a Motorola GLEAM+, the first phone he'd ever gotten and refused to update -- and pushed a few numbers in. After a brief pause he said, "Yeah hi. Listen. You can't be doing this every damn week, Tom."

The rest of the Patriots watched on as Bill stood silently, phone pressed to his ear as he listened, expression giving nothing away.

"Right. Like I said, Tom, you can't be doing this every damn week."

Once again Bill slipped into a quiet pause as he listened to his phone. The team awaited anxiously, hopefully. 

Chris Hogan kicked the dirt patiently. Ryan Allen took a hold of Gostkowski's hand and began to rub his thumb along the kicker's palm. Cordarrelle Patterson yawned and tried to lean against his luggage, only to lose his balance and bump into Stephon Gilmore. 

"Watch it." Gilmore hissed, shoving Cordarrelle away. 

"Sorry, didn't mean to." Cordarrelle murmured tiredly. 

"Yeah right. After all these years, you _still_ out to get me." 

Cordarrelle frowned hard. "When are you gonna accept that I'm your _teammate_ now? We aren't against each other anymore, man."

"That aint mean shit to me. I ain't got no friends."

Cordarrelle couldn't have rolled his eyes harder if he tried.

Finally Bill said, "Uh huh." More silence. "Okay, Tom. But you can't keep be doing this Every. Damn. Week."

"Hey..." James White muttered in confusion. "Where's Gronk at?"

 

* * *

 

"Thanks again for letting me ride home with you in the Patriots Plane." Gronk smiled goofily, cozied up in his Patriot's Plane seat.

Brady took in the sight of Gronk wrapped in so many blankets. "C'mon we're home. Let's go." 

The two of them had just arrived back to New England. Alone. _Without_ the rest of the team. Normally Brady would seethe and rage, shout and scream on the plane ride home after a lost game (especially when he hijacked the plane for himself) but the trip with Gronk had calmed his nerves a bit. He'd still spent the majority of the plane ride in an electrolyte ridden angst, fueled with endless stress hydration, but having Gronk with him tonight had provided a soothing hue. 

"You know, you could've sat  _anywhere_  you wanted. It was just you and me." Brady grabbed his electrolytes and avocado flavored lip balm, throwing a glance at Gronk before heading towards the exit. 

"Is that why you sat in the squirrel's seat?" Gronk asked curiously, grabbing his blankets and plush New England Patriots football. 

Brady hesitated for a moment. "Yeah, that's why I did that."

"I'm feelin' pretty special you let me come home and not get stuck with the rest of the team like you usually do." Gronk sounded giddy as ever. 

Brady shrugged, waiting for Gronk to catch up to him. "I wanted you with me tonight, buddy." 

Gronk just nodded eagerly, smiling as he said, "Yeah." He followed Brady close as they exited the plane.

Brady was thankful to not have to explain himself. It had come as quite a surprise that the Trading Police had touched _Gronk_ of all people, and without anyone else knowing. It had come as even more of a surprise that Gronk _fought back_. Gronk had only finally just admitted this to the team and to the public, and Brady felt sorry that Gronk had to carry the weight of that burden by himself this whole time. 

He'd thought Gronk had wanted to _actually_ retire. ~~That time in the desert... maybe Gronk had wanted to tell him the truth then... but just couldn't...~~

Things between himself and Coach hadn't been where they should've been during the end of the 2017 season, Brady knew that much, but to think that Coach had tried to offer Gronk -- the man Brady had completed the most passes to _ever_ \-- to the Lions had hurt. 

These last two weeks hurt.

 _Everything hurt_.

But Gronk choosing to play by Brady's side _no matter what_  didn't hurt a single bit. It might've been the only thing that didn't hurt if not for the man waiting at the private back entrance of the airport. 

"Cute little squirrel!!!" Gronk pointed excitedly, picking up the pace to chase the squirrel. 

"Jules?" Brady froze, luggage in hand. 

"Hey, guys." Julian Edelman pushed up from the wall he'd been leaning against, several paperback copies of Relentless in tow, before receiving a tackle hug from Gronk. 

"What's this!!!?" Gronk began examining the paperback copies of Relentless.

"They're just books." Julian said.

"Oh my God! Why is it soft?" Gronk laughed in amazement. "I thought your book was like, all hard and shit?"

"Yeah, it was. It still is, but now they made a new version of it with a paperback cover. So it's soft. It's the same thing though." Julian explained as Gronk made understanding noises and continued evaluating the books. Julian shifted his attention. "You just gonna stand there, Toemas?"

"Team wasn't expected to fly home for another couple hours. Why you waiting here?" Brady finally found it in himself to keep walking, to walk towards the man he hadn't been able to stop thinking about all night. 

"Naw, I came here for you. Second I heard 'bout the outcome of that game I knew what you were gonna do. Knew you'd be on that plane. Just thought you'd be alone, but I get it. I respect it." 

"You wanted me alone?" Tom couldn't help but ask, couldn't help the smile that accompanied it. 

"Hell, you know I take you anyway I can get you."

Brady held his arm out so the two of them could grab hands and pull into each other for a firm but brief hug. "I uh," his tone faltered, "Gisele's got all this stuff going on, photoshoot and.. so she's.. um," he shook his head to imply her absence and felt his breath hitch, "I'm really glad you came."

"Me too!" Gronk struggled to gather some of Julian's soft cover books.

Brady also picked up a few copies. "You got a lotta these." 

"Yeah they're everywhere." Julian agreed, and despite the vast amount of books surrounding him there was a flash of something unreadable in his eyes. 

The three men made their way through the airport making casual conversation. Gronk was going on about how he'd recently installed a lock on his front door to prevent burglary but still felt a little nervous every time he came home from a trip. Julian told them both about his soft cover books and how he had way too many of them and they really were _everywhere_. Brady kept quiet, enjoying the strange calmness that had come over him from the presence of Gronk and Edelman. 

Yes, he was angry.  _More_ than angry, beyond it really. The wrath would surface soon enough.

But he was also tired of life without his best receiver. And thankful for one tight end's stubborn loyalty -- a loyalty that so rarely existed these days. 

Julian agreed to give them rides home. He dropped Gronk off first and then turned the engine off at Brady's place, offering to go inside with him. Brady gratefully walked Julian into his place, feeling true relief for the first time in a while when he locked the door behind them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes at the end? This is me re-familiarizing myself with Ao3, tbh. Idk what I'm doing 99% of the time.


	6. Win it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were not going well.   
> But now they are!

_**THE PATRIOTS HAVE DRAFTED JOSH GORDON** _

_**CONTROVERSIAL, UNEXPECTED PUSH TO SCOOP UP JOSH GORDON - ARE THE PATRIOTS DESPERATE?** _

_**JOSH GORDON HAS NOT PLAYED A FULL SEASON - WHAT ARE THE PATRIOTS THINKING?** _

Tom set down the three newspapers he had Rex Burkhead pick up for him after his thirteen hour practice with a shake of his head. (Some might say Bill worked them too hard, but Tommy knew better than anyone that a week of difficult work was necessary after their terrible performances against the fucking _Lions_ ). 

"Will these guys ever get a life?"

"Doubtful, sir," Rex replied. He wore a brace around his neck and every time Brady looked at him, he flinched. It was tough seeing his favored running back with his injury. Hopefully he'd heal up fast. With Josh now in the mix and Jules soon returning, Tom's confidence was  _shockingly_ high after coming off 2 weeks of losses. 

Just  _one more game_ before Julian would be his go-to Wide Receiver again. 

For now, he had to make do. 

"Hey, Rex? You think Danny will remember me?"

"Danny Etling, sir?" Rex asked. "I think that boy is very aware of who you are. He has your poster in his locker and refuses to leave--"

"No,  _not_ Danny Etling."

Rex paused for a moment. "Danny...  _Amendola?"_

Tom gave a curt nod.

"Of course, sir. Danny PLAYOFF Amendola is one of your closest friends."

Tom took a deep breath and nodded again, his eyes distant. He didn't reply. He supposed he would see in just two days, when the Dolphins came to New England.

* * *

_TWO DAYS EARLIER_

Danny Amendola laughed with more glee than anyone had ever heard him laugh with as Ryan Tannehill cupped the back of his neck. 

"SHOT SHOT SHOT SHOT!"

"It's  _shots,"_ Kenyan Drake corrected, snorting as he nursed his own cocktail - an old fashioned (he was classy like that). His eyes hadn't left Danny all fucking  _night._ This white boy who'd joined their team from New England had such tiny features, but he knew that not  _everything_ was tiny.

Danny had felt him staring but refused to look back as he tossed back his eighth shot of tequila. 

"TO THE DOLPHIN FAMILY! FIST IN THE AFC!" Ryan shouted, raising his glass with enthusiasm. Danny clinked his empty shot glass against it with a _WHOOP_.

________

Tom set down the video recording sent to his phone from a phone number he didn't recognize - the area code from somewhere in Denver. Danny Amendola certainly looked  _cozy_ with his new team. Why this hurt so much, he did not know. He still had Gronk. No one had proven his loyalty more than Gronk. He still had Jules. Jules was, perhaps, the best Wide Receiver he'd ever worked with and--  _he was so much more._ But watching Danny bond with fucking  _RYAN TANNEHILL_ made his heart palpitate in ways that made him want to heave up his avocado salad.

The mysterious number popped up again, this time with a message.

LOOKS LIKE CLUTCH DOLPHINDOLA HAS A NEW BOYFRIEND HAHAHAHAHA.

Tom threw his phone down.

* * *

Danny pulled on his Dolphins helmet. It was... so... very... weird being back at Gillette. It was like he'd gone on an extended vacation and he was coming home for the first time; but he was coming home to a place he no longer recognized. 

Everything inside of him felt wrong. His stomach seizing, rolling into tight knots as he heard the roars of the crowd over the song Tom always insisted the team run out onto the field for. He wasn't ready to face his old fanbase. He wasn't ready to face his old  _team._ It was going to be so goddamn  _weird_ to see Tom across the field. 

He was just glad they wouldn't be on the field at the same time; but he would still come face-to-face with some he'd once called his brothers. 

But there was no delaying it...

...it was game time.

_And Danny Amendola gets tackled before he can make any advances!_

_Ryan Tannehill is sacked!_

_Gronkowski catches a touchdown throw!_

_The Patriots are back!_

_Danny Amendola, former Patriot, who had been so beloved in New England last year, taken down from behind!_

_Interception, Patriots get the ball at the 20!_

_Another TD from the Patriots, this one by Patterson!_

_The Patriots are shutting the Dolphins out; this is really unexpected after the way both teams have played so far! Looks like Brady and company are out for blood._

_Patriots win, 38-7- what an embarrassing game for the Dolphins!_

Danny felt numb. His feet carried him across the field before he could stop them. Ryan's voice was in his ear, calling him, telling him to come with the team to the locker room, but Danny ignored the protests. All he knew was the Patriots. 

_What kind of mistake had he made?_

Gronk had managed to stay on the team by threatening retirement. Why hadn't he done the same? 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was in front of Tom Brady, looking up into his eyes. There was a sadness behind his own eyes, a deep, longing sadness. 

"Hey Danny," Tom said just loud enough for him, and only him, to hear over the music and celebrating crowd. "Good game man. Good to see you." Danny nodded, swallowing tightly as they embraced.

And it was over. That was it. Tom was being shuffled away and Danny had no choice but to find his team, to go into the locker room where Ryan Tannehill was standing naked in the middle and Frank Gore was beating him with a belt.

"That's it, baby. Punish me!"

He'd always thought Tom was hard on himself after a loss, but Ryan-- something had changed in him since he'd first moved to Miami. A team that had been so used to losing hadn't handled their wins well. They'd been doing so, so good up until tonight. The hope that had been filled inside of Ryan and the other senior Dolphin players had been too much. They weren't used to the high of a win and maybe, just maybe, they'd given themselves too much hope. This loss..

...it was going to ruin them.

* * *

"How's it feel to be back?" Gronk called to Julian as he tossed a warm up ball at the little squirrel. Jules' beard tickled his face as he caught the ball and then pumped his arm back and forth.

"It's  _great!"_ he called, running with the ball straight towards Gronk who put up a good defensive front. Jules faked left then went right, breaking away from the massive tight end.

"Hey, lil squirrel, get back here!" Gronk said, laughing as he trudged after him, waddling like a giant toddler. 

Josh Gordon sat on the bench as the pre-game protocol (coin toss, warm ups) went through the rounds. New England was a weird place, but there was something wildly  _different_ about Tom, Gronk, and Jules. They were this trifecta of white bros who were just--  _unstoppable._ He wondered how a man like him might fit in.

What he had gathered in the less-than-two-weeks he'd been in New England was that Tom Brady required a lot of  _trust_ to make plays with certain players. He wasn't sure how to earn that trust, but he was no damned fool (that was what his mom always called him whenever he got suspended, 'you damn fool! ruining your life!' Well, he was going to prove her wrong). He would only have this one opportunity ti work with the GOAT and the legendary Patriots. They would be off to the playoffs and probably the Super Bowl. After coming from a losing team, he knew what that kind of shit meant.

Tonight, Josh Gordon was going to prove himself.

* * *

 _And on his first play of the night, Tom throws the ball, connecting with Wide Received Julian Edelamn. This is the first game he has played since 2016, not counting the pre-season, and he is looking as good as ever_!

Jules scratched his beard on the sidelines after his first few plays. There was a new lightness in his chest he hadn't felt since before his torn ACL. 

He knew it had little to do with playing this game.

And everything to do with the fact that Tom Brady had chosen to throw the ball to him on his very first play of the game. 

Tom.

Brady.

 _Still_.

Loved.

Him.

He could cry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MAN THE BOYS ARE BACK (knock on wood). Let's see this winning streak continue!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chiefs put up a good fight but it aint good enough. 
> 
> here's a small little thing. because sometimes you just havent written in 96 years and this is all you can come up with.
> 
> you know start small, work your way up

Nothing like beating a _kid_. 

 _Nothing_.

The Chiefs -- what a team. Trading their QB all casual like they did, letting some _rookie_ take the wheel. Patrick Mahomes was... well, _young_. TOO young. Born in _1995_. It was the devil's work. 

Kid like that? No experience. No chance to be stood. 

Put up a real good fight though. It was a little annoying to admit, Brady ruminated over his nightly electrolytes, how Mahomes gave him a run for his money. How Mahomes just...

"Meu amor?"

"Gisele, I'm tryin'a _think_." Tom sighed out, lowering the glass of electrolyte infused water back onto the nightstand. 

 _Where was I?_... he thought to himself. _Oh yeah_ \- it was annoying just to think that Mahomes had put up a better fight than say, Andrew Luck. Hell, Luck had been...

"Meu AMOR." Gisele demanded, huffing.

Tom inhaled deeply, slowly. 

"Mue amor, did you drink the Yerba Mate tea again before the bed?"

"No, of course not." Tom replied, puzzled. He shifted in bed, turning to give her his full attention. "Why?"

"I told you to retire the Mate tea before the bed!-"

"..I didn't!.."

"-is three in the morning and you  _still_ awake!"

"I told you: I'm just trying to think."

"And must you think with all the light on?!"

"It's just a small lamp, I-"

"I cannot sleep if you have the small lamp on, Tom. And I can practically _hear_ you thinking. I think you lie to me and you drink the Yerba Mate tea."

"I told you, I didnt!"

"Stop lying!"

"I'm _**not**_!"

She eyed him. 

He sighed. "Gisele, I swear to you."

"How many time I tell you. You drink Mate in morning. Maybe after the lunch is nice time too. **Not** at NIGHT."

"That was ONE time."

Gisele shook her head slowly but continuously. "You suppose to retire the Mate at night."

"Can you stop using that word?!"

"You're the one who drank it!"

"Not THAT word. The R word." Brady looked hurt. "Can you _please_ stop using it."

" _Meu Deus_.. can you stop _thinking_ so much!"

"It's _good_ for me to think. I gotta use my brain. I gotta do this."

"Why don't you think about retiring then?"

If it was possible to choose to feel indignant, Tom would've chosen to feel indignant in that moment.

"ArRuUURARGgghHh..........!" A frustrated Gisele tossed onto her other side, turning her back to her husband as she repositioned herself to go back to sleep.

"Honey...-"

" _Don't_ you _honey_ me."

"Look, tonight was so great. We won an amazing game."

" _Velho_ e seu _vencedor_."

"Baby..." Tom tried, voice so soft.

"YEEES, yes. We won. Okay! Goooooodniiiight!"

"Goodnight." Tom bit his lower lip and released a sigh. Kinda wanted to have sex actually. One look at Gisele's back informed him that he'd blown that opportunity.

* * *

Once he was downstairs in the living room, Brady lifted his phone to let it scan his face. He swiped his thumb along the surface until it said "Gronk" and with the word "calling..." beneath it. 

He patiently awaited for the other to answer.

 


	8. TB12 & Gronk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Tom just needs a little help from his most loyal Tight End.

The bass dropped, and so did Gronk.

With his behind in the air, Rob Gronkowski backed up against a slim blonde, wiggling his bottom with so much enthusiasm his entire body  _gyrated._ His tongue hung out between his lips, caught between his teeth as he worked his arms up and down by his sides. Beer showered over him from above and Gronk inclined his head towards the sky, allowing the sweet nectar of gods to spread over his tastebuds. 

"It's you!" Gronk laughed, spotting the guy who had showered Tyreek in a $10 Bud Light (who drank  _Bud Light?)_ during the game raining down beer from the spout behind the bar. 

His whole body vibrated almost as much as Stephen A. Smith's as he wiggled and danced to Nicki Minaj; a song he personally requested. There was no way better to celebrate a W than to dance to Nicki Minaj!

Gronk's vibrations were so intense that he nearly missed the buzzing in his pocket. But fortunately, just before his phone sent the caller to his voicemail, Gronk slid it open.

"WASSUP?" he called over the bumping music.

"Rob."

It was Thomas Edward Patrick Brady Jr. That voice, warm and smooth and high-pitched.... it was a voice that Rob Gronkowski would recognize anywhere.

He sobered in an instant.

"Oh- heya Tom."

"What? Where the hell are you?" Brady called through the wide receiver. 

Gronk pushed his way through the crowd. Dancers were easier to stiff-arm than the goddamn Chiefs defense; but he could manage both. 

_We're gonna play forever!_

Gronk flinched as the cold night air hit him. It was mid-Autumn in New England and 3AM was not kind on his skin, causing an instant chill to roll up and down his entire body. 

"Sorry, man!" Gronk yelled, his ears ringing as the silent night surrounded him. Stepping out from the blaring club deafened him. "What're you doing  _up?_ You already get your TB12 hours of sleep?" Gronk used his free hand to count out the hours since the game ended and concluded, after several moments, that it would have been impossible for Tom to have gotten more than three hours of sleep if he had, indeed, gone straight to bed upon the game's completion. 

"No, I-  _was thinking_ and  _Gisele-"_

"What were you thinking?" Gronk asked as he leaned against the brick wall outside the club. He could feel the vibrations of the music and he found himself wishing he'd brought a jacket. His sweat-drenched shirt made him shiver. 

"Mahomes, he's-- a  _child."_

"Kids don't beat goats," Gronk said simply shrugging. "What'd you say, we were going to play forever? Ha! Me, you, and the squirrel. I guess we're going to have to find the Youth Fountain!"

" _What?"_

"I don't know, isn't Belichick going on some mission to find it this Thanksgiving?"

"Uh..."

Gronk laughed. 

"Anyyyway... He's just a kid and he nearly had us, man."

" _Nearly,"_ Gronk emphasized. "Yeah, so what? We left some plays on the field! We all know that! But we  _won."_

Brady took a deep breath through his nose and nodded. "Yeah, I-- I guess, man. I just..."

"You need me to do my Belichick impression so you can sleep?"

"Maybe..."

"C'mon, man, you know you need it!" Gronk barked, laughing as he pushed off the wall and began to pace, getting himself into character.

"Okay, yeah."

Gronk took a deep breath and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was lower and monotone in a very poor impression of Bill Belichick.

"YOU ALL PLAY LIKE TODDLERS!" he barked. "YOU LOOK LIKE BALLERINAS! THIS IS FOOTBALL, C'MON NOW. THIS ISN'T OLYMPIC GYMNASTICS! YOU SUCK!"

Tom flinched but forced a laugh through his electrolytes. 

"You go to bed now," Gronk said. 

"Okay," Tom replied. "Okay. Thanks, man."

"No problem! You sleep well, Tommy boy."

"Thank you..."

Gronk pressed end on his phone and slid back into the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why thank you for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change is in the air...

Cordarrelle Patterson clung to the towel around his waist, maneuvering his teammates to get to his locker. 

"HEY! Hey, I was looking for you!"

Cordarrelle spun around at the feel of a soft hand grabbing at his bicep. "Hm?"

"So um... you got that 95 yard touchdown today, huh..?" Danny Etling may have been smiling, but his eyes bore a silent accusation right into Cordarrelle. Cordarrelle could see the tension straining to tug Danny's lips into a frown. 

"Uh- yea, you know. It was tight, right?" Cordarrelle wanted to keep it casual, but couldn't help glancing down at Danny's delicate hand on his arm. 

Danny pulled his hand back, eyeing it for a second before dropping his arm by his side. "Yeano- I... that's _GREAT_ , man! I..." And then his head jolted with a tight nod. "I think that's really great."

"Uh- thanks, Etling." Cordarrelle said.

"Yea uh, that's really something. That's a _lotta_ yards. To like. _To get a touchdown!_ That's, like- _wow man_ , that's like... I mean 95 yards!? Was it...?" His expression narrowed in a strange and sudden concern, "It was _95_ , right? Not 85?"

"Uh- ya, 95 yards straight up. Pretty sure." Cordarrelle tried not to sigh at how drawn out Etling’s whole congratulatory thing was.

"Wait, so like, you're not _positive_ on that? It might’ve actually been 85 yards?" A flicker of hope flashed across Danny's face.

"Nnn.. well, no actually I am positive. It was 95."

"-oh so. Okay yeah 95. Wow." Danny's eyebrows lifted then, even though the rest of his expression fell. "And uh, you ran like twenty miles per hour too. That's like. I mean you got in the 90's."

"Uh- what?"

"I mean yard-wise; 95 yards. _In the 90's_. That's really something."

Cordarrelle gave a tight lipped smile. "Pure luck, you know?-"

"No way, no way." Danny shook his head. "Don't discredit yourself, that's like... a _LOT_ of yards. I mean 95 yards? That's crazy. That's like... _more_ than like, in the 80's. You got that juice."

"Yep." ~~_This kid.._~~ , Cordarrelle thought to himself impatiently. "Aight I'm gonna go change."

"Yeah, totally." Danny was still smiling but Cordarrelle could tell there was a misleading lack of joy in Danny's eyes. It freaked him out a little. "Ya'okay, man?"

"Why would you ask me that?" Danny replied instantly, tone monotonous. 

"Uhh......" a shiver worked its way down Cordarrelle's spine for Danny may as well have been a robot with the way he sounded. Slowly, Cordarrelle said, "N o.. re a s on.. jus wonderin, bro. You jus' seem a lil uptight is all."

"I'm fine."

Cordarrelle's voice rose defensively, "Oookay." He turned and continued to his locker area when Gilmore caught his eye. The two of them stared at each other for a minute. 

Gilmore seemed to cave under the pressure. His eyes widened with each passing second until finally he turned abruptly and scurried off. 

Cordarrelle's eyes narrowed suspiciously. People in this place were hella weird. Finally he got to his locker and reached in to pull out his... "The hell is this?" He asked himself, running his finger through what was far too shiny and purple to be dust... "Is this glitter?"

Someone snorted from behind him. Cordarrelle _heard_ _it_ loud and clear.

Cordarrelle spun around just in time to see Gilmore's braids disappear behind Malcolm Brown's wide back. "Stephon, I just saw ya damn hair."

Gilmore slowly revealed himself. 

"Whatchu doin, fool. You hidin?" Cordarrelle demanded, cocking his head and pursing his lips. "What- you takin' Adderall uh somethin’. Will you stop tryin'a kill me with your Tarot card bullshit."

"It's _Unicorn ashes_." Gilmore admitted solemnly, defeated. 

Malcolm Brown huffed. "Did you _**REALLY**_  just _use me_ as a _wall_?"

Gilmore and Cordarrelle both turned to Malcolm Brown. 

"I feel as though you just _used me_ as a wall. I **don't** appreciate that for two reasons; the first of which is that it simply makes me feel, well,  _used_  -- to put it plainly. Secondly, I honestly just feel fat when you do things like that? And I would really appreciate it if you put an end to that behavior. It's just. It's been a really rough couple of weeks and I don't need this right now."

Cordarrelle pulled in a slow breath and shifted his focus to Gilmore to see how he would reply to this train-wreck of a situation. 

Gilmore seemed to shrink in on himself. 

Cordarrelle's expression turned into slight shock. _What was happening?_

"I'm... I'm really sorry, Malcolm."

Malcolm nodded slow. "Apology accepted, Stephon. I want to thank you for taking the time to admit your wrongdoings and reaching out to me. It means a lot to me."

Gilmore nodded, hands brought together in prayer position. "You’re welcome, man." 

Malcolm Brown went back to applying deodorant. 

"What the actual hell?" Cordarrelle exclaimed. "Did I just see you, Stephon Gilmore, apologize to someone? Thought you didn't believe in _friendship_. I mean ... aren't you trying to kill me with Unicorn dust?"

"They're _ashes_. And um.... I.. Yes. I... _I_   _was_." Gilmore looked down guiltily. 

"You are _crazy_. And you need _help_." Cordarrelle side stepped over to Gilmore's locker and reached into it. 

"Hey! Don't-"

Cordarrelle grabbed the glass bottle of glittery purple powder and began examining it. "When are you just gonna ACCEPT that we on the SAME-" he went silent then, blinking as he studied the bottle.

Gilmore gulped and lunged, grabbing the bottle from Cordarrelle. "Stop going through my stuff!-"

"Why does it say _Good Luck Dust?_ " Cordarrelle asked carefully.

"I DON'T KNOW." Gilmore breathed heavily. 

Cordarrelle squinted, studying Gilmore, his heart thudding gently in his chest. "You.. you wanted to help me. Why.."

"N-no! I... I..." Gilmore couldn't seem to get his breathing in check. 

"Awwww~" If Malcolm Brown were wearing a pearl necklace, he'd be clutching it then. He watched Gilmore and Cordarrelle with tears in his eyes. "This is such a meaningful moment."

"Stephon, I-? I don't know what to say? Thank you? I guess. That's really sweet of you." 

Gilmore blushed. "I... don't wanna talk about it, okay? We... we _aren't_ friends. I _don't_ need any friends." He grabbed his gear and took off, not looking back once. 

Cordarrelle, however, couldn't take his eyes off Gilmore's back. 


	10. To Be A Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into the Bears locker room after facing a loss to TB12 & the Patriots

Kyle Fuller shook his head.

"Damn son've a bitch started it, did you see?" 

Mitch Trubisky flipped the television off and rolled his eyes. "You can't be focusing on the  _negative,_ Ky," he cooed, scratching the back of his favorite defender's head. 

"The dude  _literally_ said ' _Hey! Hey! Mr. Official! He's grabbing my face mask and being mean to me!_ ' What kinda grown ass man--"

"You  _did_ grab his face mask."

"He  _started_ it! You see his scrappy ass red gloves shoving at me?"

"I know, baby. I know," Mitch said softly, doing his damned  _best_ to soothe Kyle. He always got like this after games, after unfair calls. The thing was, Mitch  _knew_ that this whole game had  _almost_ been theirs and he was damned sure it was because  _he_ seemed to have been the  _only_ person that showed up to play.  _He'd_ picked up most of the first downs.  _He'd_ scored half the touchdowns.  _He'd_ made sure the ball had gotten down the field only to be dropped or for his  _receivers_ to be tackled before they could make any kind of play. 

"Anyone want some chip'n dip?" Khalil Mack chimed in, rolling his eyes  _away_ from the sexual tension that was Kyle Fuller and Mitch Trubisky. He was so  _tired_ of their incessant touching and sometimes, he had the urge to lock them in the showers alone just so they would finally screw like everyone this side of the Mississippi knew they wanted. 

"I do!" Jordan Howard grabbed a fistful of tostitos and tipped half of them, at once, into a creamy, neon-orange cheese, then shoved half the bag into his mouth.

Trey Burton curled his fingers around his worn jersey, his eyes distant as a memory passed through his mind so quickly it was almost as though it had never happened.  _Screaming from the Philadelphia Eagles fans. Confetti floating down in teal and white. Nick Foles crying tears of joy - but also with a hint of devastation. They'd won the Super Bowl. Just weeks later, Trey was given the news that he was cut loose._ He swallowed tightly. 

"Alrigh' 'nough BELLYACHIN' you  _fools!"_ Matt Nagy grunted, smacking Howard on the back of the head.

"What the hell!"

"We's GOIN' ter JOIN the Official Coalition Agains' that there Thomas Brady, ya'll hear?"

"What's that?" Mitch asked as he sprawled out, resting his  head in Kyle's lap. Kyle was still reeling over the footage of Julian Edelman shoving him before tattling when he'd  _accidentally_ grabbed the Patriot's face mask.

"You knows  _zactly_ what it is."

"I know," Trey said softly. "I've been... As an Eagle... it was-- it was  _required."_

"An' lookie what HAPPENED with them Eagles! They's done good took down them Patriots once an' fer all! S'time  _we_ start takin' a bite out've that tuna sub!"

"That's Ben Roethlisberger's favorite sandwich," Trey said absently, his eyes wide as he thought about the prospect of returning to a meeting. Of facing Nick Foles. Of seeing the perpetual hurt in Matt Ryan's eyes. Of listening to them yammer on about how much they hated TB12... 

_It wasn't right._

"'Course it is, I know that, son! Who you take me fer, a dang fool?" Matt Nagy asked, shaking his head. "Tha's whats on the agender for the week. We's goin' to one of these there meetins and we's goin' ter see what they's all about! You in?"

Mitch jumped up quite suddenly, resembling an oversized cheerleader. He outstretched his arm in front of him, wiggling his fingers. The team knew what to do. Every last Chicago Bear stood and put their hands in the center as Mitch began their typical post-game chant.

"Annnnnddddd GO GO dancing QUEEN we are the BEARS and we are MEAN!"

In unison, their hands lowered before they all tossed them back and clapped.

"Tha's righ'... We's all goin' ter be comin' fer you Thomas Brady," Matt said, laughing wickedly as he rubbed his hands together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies. LOVE YA.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back in the Patriots locker room.... 
> 
> *(this also takes place after the Pats vs Bears game)

Julian Edelman shook his head.

"Damn son've a bitch started it, did you see?"

Tom Brady sat down near Julian and scrubbed a white towel at his wet hair. "Yeah, I saw that." Tom sounded dismissive, attention catching on Cordarrelle Patterson as he walked by in his towel, "Hey, good game, baby."

Cordarrelle nodded at Tom before walking straight into Danny Etling. Tom smiled as the two struck up a conversation; nice seeing the new teammates get along. 

Julian carried on. "He was grabbing my face mask  _and?_  Being mean to me." Tom's smiled turned into a chuckle that had Julian leaning in. "Best not be laughin at me."

"Just thinkin."

"About what..." Julian noticed Tom was still grinning something small and stupid, something he really couldn't relate to. Yeah, they'd won. It was great, but.. Julian didn't feel right. His entire mood just felt _so off_. Just then Stephon Gilmore raced by in the direction that Cordarrelle had gone, but not without sparing a heated look Julian’s way. Julian's stomach twisted sour but he rose to the challenge. Wouldn’t, couldn’t, didn’t break eye contact; made sure it was Gilmore who looked away first. Damn straight. 

"Cordarrelle's 96 yard kick return," Brady answered, totally (or at least, seemingly) oblivious to apparently everything.

Julian had heard 95 yards but silently digressed, slow nod and all, showing his attentive agreement. "Pretty amazing."

"Got me thinking of your punt returns."

" _What?_ Aw come on, man. Those were forever ago." Julian tried for his best _knock-it-off_ -tone, but Brady just kept on grinning. Kinda ticked Julian off for no reason.

"I know it's different but," Tom had this faraway dreamy look going on, "I just thought about _you_." 

"Yeah - about how I'm not makin those plays no more."

That seemed to snap Tom out of it a little. "What're you talking about?”

Julian's chest ached. He kept quiet. For all his _I'm the best version of me_ talk, he really just didn't feel it, not tonight.

"What's wrong, Jules?" There was definite concern there, Julian could hear it loud and clear. Amazingly, Julian realized, no matter what Tom said, concerned or not, it would drive his inner squirrel nuts tonight. 

"I'ma head out?" Although poised as a question, there was no room for negotiation. He was up and getting dressed fast, not bothering to wait around for this dead end conversation.

Of course that didn't stop Brady from not only answering, but having the nerve to sound incredulous. "Jeez you're real upset about the damn mask, huh?"

Julian refused to answer. You know what? Maybe he _would_ answer. Julian turned around, opened his mouth to speak but-

"Tonight was supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, Tom!" Josh Gordon was smiling ear to ear, eyes lit up bright. "In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun... and we all did our jobs tonight."

"Sure as hell did. Stay clutch, baby, stay clutch." Brady was smiling wide, right back at Gordon.

"I will, man- you practically perfect in every way."

Between the both of their  _gotdamn_ smiling, Julian feared going blind. Gordon’s talent blew Julian away, no doubt about it. After Gordon walked away, Julian thought aloud, "Kid is crazy."

Tom nodded, bewildered. "Crazy _good_."

Julian tried not to scream. He exhaled hard, noticed Tom staring at him rather intently.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong?" Tom’s tone was slipping back into concern. 

"Nope."

"How's your daughter?" Tom asked. (And now there was contempt in Tom’s tone — it was like Tom Versus Tone.)

The question came out of no where and took Julian by surprise. He couldn't summon the calmness to think up a witty reply, never mind articulate one, so he blurted, "Lily's with Ella. How's _Gisele_."

"Stay with me tonight, Julian." Tom was suddenly right there in his face, voice all soft and low, throwing out an offer like he would a ball on the field.

"Do you even _want_ me to?" Julian received, emotions grabbing onto the football of Tom's offer, holding it close and running to the endzone of their eye contact.

There may as well have been a magnetic forcefield complete with green turf between them, one that somehow both attracted and repelled equally, creating an equilibrium Julian wished to Gronk spike.

" _Yes_." Tom said the word like he meant it, like it had come straight from the surety of his right arm. "I _do_." And Julian couldn't look away from his beautiful blue eyes, football shaped and sad, as though deflated in the cruelest irony. "I really do, Jules."

"You act like you don't.."

"I can't stop thinking about you."

"You're just saying that..."

"Guys. GUYS..." Chris Hogan hobbled over with his busted knee, "Coach needs help..."

Both Julian and Brady jerked to look at Hogan.

* * *

"Dunno how m’gonna do this." Belichick mumbled, gaze glued to the floor.

"Look- it's just a few words. It'll be done before you know it~~” Gostkowski offered. Ryan Allen immediately nodded, making a noise of agreement.

Belichick was mumbling so much that he was BARELY AUDIBLE. "No it's an entire paragraph."

"Okay, so it's a paragraph." Tom stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest. "So what. All you gotta do is Read. Execute. Deliver."

”Nnh.” Belichick said.

James White was shaking his head non stop, shrugging his shoulders like it was all he could do. "Maybe take a few breathers? Pause if you gotta. This ain't no race."

"No." Julian agreed. "It's not."

"I don't-" Belichick hesitated. "I don't think there's a time limit."

Josh Gordon piped up, "Just a spoon-ful of sugar helps the medicine go down!"

"Mnnh, sugar-" Belichick made a ruminant noise, then murmured, "-for the vocal chords."

"Who would do this to him?" Matthew Slater sounded shocked, appalled, and frankly disgusted. 

"I did." Came a booming voice. All of the Patriots turned to the owner of the confident voice. It was... _Brian Flores_! "I told the MBA that Bill Belichick would voice the intro Baseball world series game. It was I."

"How _could_ you...?" Slater whispered in betrayal. 

"Because I'm here to change things up." Brian nodded to Bill. "He's got a fear of talking. So! Im'a help him get over that. They call me Mr. Fix-it. You got a broken faucet? I'm ya man. Your watch dead? Call me. Relationship problems? Girl, you too good for him. That's who I am. They used to call me Coldplay in college because I am the song: Fix You."

Slater practically had hearts in his eyes. "Wow! How empowering!" 

"You're just what this team needs." Josh McDaniels placed a firm hand on Brian Flores’s shoulder. Brian lifted his own hand, gently cupping it over McDaniels's. 

Tom's eyebrows furrowed slightly... he noticed _the gay_. Quickly, he looked away. Julian noticed Tom looking away. His squirrely eyes shot over to see what Tom had saw. He, too, noticed the gay. His breath caught. 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if anyone reads this im sorry. 
> 
> everyone knows tom brady is gay but the real question is... who is he gay FOR?
> 
> *takes place after pats vs green bay packers game

It never bother Julian _before_...

...how Tom called everyone _baby_.

And after tonight's game, boy was Tom baby'ing it up to **everyone** on the damn team. It never bothered Julian _before_...

"Good game, baby!" and "Lookin good, baby!" and "Y'did real good, babe!" -- Julian couldn't hear anything else even when he tried. All he could hear was Tom's deep, gorgeous, reassuring voice. Even when Julian was trying to talk to someone else. Even when they were on the other side of the damn locker room from each other, for Christ's sake. All he could hear was Tom. 

 _He was losing it_...

* * *

 "Aye." Cordarrelle yanked at Stephon's bare shoulder. 

Stephon spun around, concerned and interested and curious and hesitant all at once. 

"I ... I think you're incredible and I wanna go out with you." Cordarrelle said. 

Stephon blinked his eyes. 

"What?!" Cordarrelle asked, suddenly so defensive that it made Stephon question Cordarrelle's position on the team. All Gilmore could do was blink his eyes. "Ah come on, man." Cordarrelle groaned out. "Do I sound stupid?!"

"No..!" It took everything Gilmore had to control the fireworks of his excitement. "No, not at all!... I---"

"Do you think Josh'll laugh at me?" Cordarrelle interrupted eagerly.  

Stephon blinked again, once more confused but still so happy... 

"I’m talkin bout Josh Gordon!" Cordarrelle corrected. "When I ask him out! Do you think he'll laugh at me? Okay, hold on... let me practice again."

Gilmore's breath escaped him, heart plummeting. 

"Hey, Gordon. I think you're incredible and I really wanna take you out... how's that?"

Gilmore's jaw hung loose so he snapped it shut and nodded fake-enthusiastically, feigning support for this ridiculous and heart shattering shenanigan. "That's good, I think." He found himself blinking rapidly and turning to reach for as many white magic nasal strips as he could find. He should've known. Should've _**known**_. Gilmore shut his eyes tight. Found that they were wet. 

"I'm so nervous, Gilmore... I was wondering if you could uh-- use some uh that white magic you were usin on me before? You know, when I ask Gordon out? I'm gonna need all the luck I can get. He real popular on the team; errybody wan him."

Gilmore rummaged through his locker and laid a hand on his white magic dust.. the dust he'd been using for Cordarrelle. He shoved it aside and reached for the black magic powder once again. He hadn't used it since Superbowl Lii.

 _~Nick Foles.... Nick Foles...~_ an eerie dark whisper emitted from the power of evil black magic. 

Gilmore closed his hand around the bottle and pulled it out of his locker, grasping it close to his heart. "We're not friends, CP."

"Yo what?" Cordarrelle gaped. "Yeah but you did that thing last week n I thought we was good?"

"A thought's a thought..." Gilmore stated sadly, "Don't make it real."

* * *

 

"Good game, baby!" Brady clapped Gordon on the back, letting his hand linger.

"HeeEEAAAyyyYYY!!!!" Julian enthused, overcompensating pretty extremely as he pretended to squirrel his way over to Tom through several unsuspecting people wrapped in towels and not even in the way. (HA! That got Tom's attention.)

Tom smiled wide as usual at Julian's clever maneuver. In a chipper and soft tone he hummed, "Hey, baby, look atchu~" 

Julian continued to put on a show before he pretended to tackle Gordon. He threw his arms forward and pushed his fellow wide receiver PLAYFULLY, smiling and "ha-ha"ing, jusssst enough that Brady's hand was NO LONGER making contact with Gordon's skin. 

"There's more of gravy than of grave about you!" Gordon called out, play shoving Julian back. The two men swiped arms at each other until Tom told them to settle down, in good spirit of course. 

"Hey Gordon!" Cordarrelle appeared out of no where, reaching out to tap Gordon, "I.. I think you're incredible and.."

"It's all humbug, I tell you-" Gordon laughed, turning to nod at Patterson. 

Patterson continued, "And I... well... can I talk to you alone?"

"Yeah."

The two men walked away, leaving Brady to Edelman. 

"You never came over." Brady said instantly, throwing Edelman off his game... but a throw could be caught!

Edelman caught it, "Yeah -- not _yet_. You doing anything tonight?" 

Boom.

"I was suppose to but..." Tom looked a little sad. 

Julian knew this. He knew this instantly. He could sense it. He just didn't know what Tom was sad over. Was it Gordon? Was it that all of a sudden he was standing here with Julian and not Josh? Was Danny Amendola right when he said that Tom Brady wouldn't want him unless he was useful? Was Julian no longer as useful? 

And just like that Julian saw red, only red, and not enough blue. 

"Fuckin hell man, I'm makin an effort," he couldn't help his voice. 

It made Brady flinch. "Huh? No, I... it's just." He shrugged one shoulder dismissively. 

And Julian would've dismissed it if it were anyone but Tom Brady he was talking to. "What..!?-" he demanded.

"I fell short." This time Tom shrugged both of his shoulders. "Really wanted to post that instagram video but I fell short of my one thousand career rushing yards goal danight. S'kinda bummin me out."

"Oh-" Julian could've slapped his forehead. Duh. This was Brady. He knew Brady. But lately it was like, he couldn't tell his left from right he was so strung up. "Listen, I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's okay," Brady's smile was still there, even despite the ever present sadness (a happy kind of sadness?) in his eyes. "I'll get it next time, right?"

"Of course you will. You're the greatest, man. The GREATEST there ever WAS. Uh. Sorry." Julian shook his head, having to snap himself out it. 

"S'fine, Jules. Let's go shower."

"Thought you'd never ask!"

* * *

Marcus Mariota, the Tennessee Titan's quarterback, slithered through the fields of Tennessee before transforming into a man again. His uncanny ability to transform into animals had gotten him into trouble yet again, this time he'd nearly gotten stomped on by a rogue cowboy, but had somehow managed to evade the sordid attack. The first time he'd transformed into a snake for a late night slither, he'd nearly gotten eaten by a Jaguar.  

Mike Vrabel, the Tennessee Titan's coach, had helped in that violent way that he did, through the use of firearms. Gun-violence had been his thing ever since the start of the season, and he'd been taking out as many opponents as he could. It was a scary show, bloody and brutal. 

Together, they made for a strange team. Half of the players were able to transform into whatever animal they chose to at will, while the other half exhibited highly trained weaponry skills. Some may say the Tennessee Titans had lost their way; but regardless of societal norms, Football _was_ their priority. 

The problem was... the Patriots were simply unstoppable. 

So in order to beat the unstoppable... they realized they had to resort to the _impossible_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i don't know. it's late and we boxed a lot.


	13. Packin for the Titans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are happening for each o the Patriots.... Some things that could be life-altering...

"Wow!" 

"It's really shiny up close, huh?" Alex Cora stroked his newly minted World Series trophy. He'd just returned from his native Puerto Rico, where he'd done a show and tell for the people of his lush, green island. 

"Almost as shiny as this!" Gronkowski extended his hand to show off his Super Bowl rings. It was devastating that he would be unable to partake in the game against the Pack, but he had his rings on for good luck. AND he was fortunate enough to meet some of the Red Sox. They were  _famous_ now that they won the World Series! He had never high fived so much in his life as he did when they came through to show their trophy off. 

Alex Cora smiled and nodded, passing the trophy gently to David Price, who stood in his Patriots jersey, which was partially obscured by his open Red Sox jersey. He cradled the trophy like a baby, just how they liked it. 

"Aye, papi, you aren't playing tonight," Alex said sadly, his brows furrowed in concern as he placed a mitt on Gronk's bicep. He hadn't allowed Gronk to hold the trophy because he knew he might try to Gronk-spike it.

Rob's expression fell. He heaved a sigh and shook his head. "Nah. Gotta rest my ankle, you know. But-- it's okay... My team, they'll be alright. They'll adjust," Rob said, feeling a twinge of regret in his chest. It was so hard to feel unneeded, but he knew this team was  _his_ team. He would do anything and everything he could for it, even if it meant missing a game so he would be  _extra_ prepared for the Titans; a team that had  _almost_ been called the Patriots of the AFC South. 

"Listen, hombre. I will say my prayers a Dios, si? You will be sano in no time, mi amigo."

Alex's words were so soft, so gentle that Gronkowski's entire expression lifted again. His eyes lit up, a smile curled on his lips, and he could not help but look to the sky. He was hopeful.

"Yo soy fiesta," Gronk said, smiling big. Alex chuckled, patting him on the back gently. There was a visible shift in his mood.

"Si, tu eres fiesta. Siempre."

* * *

Julian's wrist ached. He laid on his left side, holding his phone in front of him at an angle that extended his hand, his thumb swiping through the photos posted by the NFL and various NFL twitter accounts. His nose scrunched, his eyes tiny pinpricks as morning light filtered through his closed curtains. Practice was meeting in just a few hours, but he couldn't drag himself up to get ready. 

No, his eyes focused on the countless photos of James White during his Touch Down celebration. The gif of Gordon's Touch Down dance. The videos of Cordarrelle running the ball. 

The one that hurt the most, perhaps, was the one where Tom looked like he was targeting  _him._ He could see it so clearly  _now,_ off the field, that the pass had  _always_ been intended for Josh Gordon. But on the field, he  _swore_ Tom's eyes locked with his. There was a look,  _that look,_ the one he got every time he was about to throw to him, but now Jules knew it wasn't directed towards him. He watched himself on the small screen as he leapt up to try and catch the ball, only for it to sail far above his head and straight into Gordon's awaiting hands. Julian flinched.

Last night, he'd gone home alone. He couldn't bring himself to head to Tom's. Not when his favorite Quarter Back had practically dismissed him on the way out. Fuck that shit. 

Gordon was good.

 _Too_ good.

Without thinking, he saved an image of him and Gordon and quickly posted it on his Instagram story, ignoring the tightness in his throat and the blurring of his eyes. 

Julian rubbed his eyes as he stepped into the bathroom. 

* * *

"I SAID. I WANTED. CHERRY!  _CHERRY!_ NONE OF THIS FUCKING WATERMELON SHIT!"

"Okay--  _okay!"_

Kenjon Barner threw the watermelon popsicle as hard as he could against an adjacent wall. It broke into a thousand pieces, the juice dripping down the white plaster. The water boy hurried off, looking like a kicked puppy.

"AND YOU'D BETTER CLEAN THAT SHIT UP!"

Kenjon kicked his feet up on the locker room sofa, releasing an  _ahh_ as he got into position for some  _intense_ relaxation. It was wild, he wasn't used to winning this way. The NFL had never been so  _exhausting._ Practice on top of practice and  _studying!_ He wasn't a scholar, which was why he'd gone to school to play football, but he was doing more homework than he ever had in his life. 

"I feel like the power is getting to him," Nate Ebner whispered to Stephen Gostkowski, who were standing nearby, frozen by their lockers as they overhead the explosive anger from their new teammate. 

"Yeah... I mean... SOMETIMES it's hard  _not_ to stay humble, but be humble or  _be humbled._ Right? Gosh, this is just-- certainly not what we're going for! This team isn't about that, right?" Stephen shook his head, looking discouraged.

"No," Nate replied in a whisper. "No, it's not."

The water boy returned with a massive sponge and a bucket of soapy, hot water. 

"WHERE'S MY POPSICLE?"

"Oh-- sorry!" he chirped, running off again.

"FUCK!"

Stephen and Nate flinched. 

* * *

 

Tom Brady scooted aside as a small water boy ran by him, looking damn well frightened. He chuckled to himself as he whipped out his phone and turned on selfie mode as he tugged his hat on to head out.

"Let's go 8-2! TENNESSEE NEXT!" he screamed, finishing his weekly Instagram video after a win. 

As soon as he put his phone away, he glanced up. His eyes met Danny Amendola's. For a moment, he paused, shocked at what he was seeing. Then, without pause, Tom's face burst into a massive smile. The smile, however, was short lived. It fell the second he registered Danny's expression.

"Tom..." Danny whimpered. "Tom... I  _need help..."_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO WE WON AGAINST AR12, now lets go kick the Titans ASSES.


	14. Chapter 14

Joe Kelly stood under the shadow of the bleachers, peering curiously over at Alex Cora and Rob Gronkowski. He retracted a bit, ~~just a little bit~~ , just to make sure the shadows kept him totally covered. There was a bubblegum wrapper on the ground. Joe Kelly's gaze clawed at it, eyes wide and hard. He crumpled it inside his brain noggin, tore into it, pieces of dust covered glimmer all over the dirt floor of his mind. 

" _Joe_."

Joe Kelly snapped out of it, twitching into focus. 

" _Joe_. What are ya DOIN, man?" Matt Barnes grabbed his shoulders and gave Joe a hard shake. 

 "......" Joe Kelly breathed in deep, eyes suddenly unfocused. 

"JOE."

"I'm BACK!"

"Joe? Matt?" Alex Cora and Gronkowski both walked over, both of them speculating the spot beneath the bleachers. "Wh-why are you under the bleachers?"

"UH-" Joe Kelly began, only to be interrupted by Matt Barnes. 

"We were playing Laugh Your Sox off!" 

Everyone went silent for a second. 

Gronk nodded, and then it was he who broke the silence. "Ohhh," he gave a laugh. "Yeah, this one year..." he began casually, supportively, "...I got socks for Christmas this one time. And I had put them on. And then later on in the day, I had taken them off. Soy perfecto." 

Joe Kelly furrowed his brows and Matt Barnes stared nervously at Joe Kelly. Alex Cora chuckled and placed a hand on Gronkowski's shoulder. "Perfecto."

Alex Cora and Gronk meandered back out onto the field, and Matt smacked Joe Kelly's arm. "You fool! You're gonna blow your cover. Our cover."

"It doesn't matter, anyways." Joe Kelly hissed. "The seasons's over. We've won."

"For _now_."

* * *

"Tom..." Danny whimpered. "Tom... I  _need help..."_

Tom Brady could've smiled less. And even though he registered the feeling of sadness for Danny, he couldn't seem to stop stop the smile. Finally the smile was gone and just like that his game face was back; eyes dark and calculating, frown tugging at his tight lips. He staggered forward and grabbed Danny's face. There was no helmet between them, so Tom refrained from smashing their foreheads together. 

Danny seemed to need this. His eyes fell shut with the movement, chest heaving. " _Tom_..."

"What happened?" Tom asked, and it was all he could do to not shout Let's Go. 

"How do you do it? How do you date a _model_? How do you make it _work_?"

Tom squinted a bit, analyzing the other.

Danny looked up, staring at Tom's familiar crow's feet. 

"Is this about Olivia?"

"SHE DUMPED ME. More than dumped me, man. It's bad. It's _real_ bad."

Tom stuttered a bit, and then licked his lips to help the words come out easier. "Why're you here, man? Shouldn't you be like, talking to your own team abotu this kinda thing. Or I mean, even Jules?..."

"Can't get in touch with him."

"You can't get in touch with Julian?"

"Nah, I can't. That's also kinda why I came up here." A flicker of dishonesty flickered in Danny Amendola's eyes and Tom had a feeling he was lying. " Wanted to make sure he was okay." Danny's eyes were bloodshot as he said this and Tom _hmm'd._  

"Well, I'm glad you're here Danny. I'm glad to see you." Tom Brady smiled and placed a reassuring hand on Danny's shoulder. "Come on. How bout we go out."


	15. Broken Hearts

Cordarrelle tapped the microphone. A soft giggle escaped him before he cleared his throat and fixed his features. The beat started to play, the soft jingle beautiful to his ears. His dark eyes scanned over the entire room, resting momentarily on a face here, a face there before he spotted Josh Gordon, hunched over his phone. He was paying no attention, but Cordarrelle would make sure he got him to look if it was the last thing he did.

Off-pitch and low, Cordarrelle began to sing a tune that he knew and loved. The Rascal Flatts.

He moved around the stage, demanding a presence as his wonderfully horrific singing voice exploded through the small room, his eyes continuously finding Gordon's. It was hard not to notice that Gordon had finally glanced up from his phone, which was pointed towards him. Filming him. Cordarrelle stood up taller, his feet carrying him back and forth across the stage.

As he finished his rendition, his voice hoarse and throat sore, he tapped the mic again.

"That one was for you, ten. You know who you is," he mumbled as he licked his lips then skittered off the stage, feeling shy. There was a soft round of applause.

"Thank you," Bill Belichick said as he looked to the back of the room as Dorsett flipped on the lights and resumed his seat for this week's meeting. "This week's game was fantastic. We had a really wonderful game. A few plays were left on the field but overall, great work, fellas. I'm particularly proud of CP. You did really great, which is why I allowed you to sing. Those touch downs were really fantastic, fellas. Josh, you did great, too. Tom, real nice work. I watched you all run up and down that field, working hard. It really paid off. You work so hard. Nice work from Trey, from Dont'a. You, too, James. I was really happy to see your hard work pay off on the field and capture that win. The Packers, they had some good plays too, we just had more. The sacks were great. We really put the pressure on Rodgers, which is what you need to do with a player like him, who can throw the ball from any angle and do really amazing things, even while in movement. Just overall great work. Was good to see Patrick working hard. Loved the way you hustled, Hogan. Gilmore, you had some amazing plays on the field. Watched you running all the way down the field, you were on every single play by the Packers. It was fantastic, just really well-played. Really proud of you this week, fellas. Just really proud. Tom- not sure what you were doing with that touch down pass to Gordon-" Bill's eyes twinkled playfully, "But I was real happy with how that turned out. Another good move by a fantastic team. I've never seen you all work so hard. Did some good work converting a lot of 3rd downs. That's what I like to see. Those flags on the Packers really helped, too, so we have to make sure we work on still making things work even when no penalties are called. Overall, real great work, fellas." Bill paused and looked around. "Any questions?"

* * *

"Meet Jules?" Tom stared at his phone as Julian Edelman's Instagram story flashed across the screen. He was sitting in his car three miles from Gillette Stadium (because Danny Amendola was with him). They'd be leaving in a few hours for Tennessee. Danny peered over at the phone, frowning.

"Where? When? How?" Danny asked. "God knows I need to see him. Fucking _Olivia_ , man..."

"It doesn't seem to say," Tom responded, ignoring the second part of Danny's sentence. It'd been days since Danny had shown up and he hadn't left yet. Tom even watched from his seat at the dinner table with his  _family_ as Danny uploaded an old photo of Miami to his Instagram, as though he was  _there_ now. When his son had imitated a snake earlier that week, Tom was afraid that Danny had really gone off the deep end. Things were just not right with his ex Wide Receiver. The dude was wearing a Patriots jersey and had tried to show up to practice four days ago, only to be zapped away by the force field prohibiting Dolphins from entering Gillette except for on game days. 

It was clear that Danny was going through something right now, but Tom could not feed into it anymore. Not after Gisele had given him a firm talking to the night before.

_"He has to go, Tom."_

_"I know, but I can't just kick him out. That's my guy..."_

_"Te amo, but he is not living here."_

_"Okay, yeah. He'll be gone soon. We just have to make it to Tennessee and hopefully he'll just--"_

_"Hopefully does not cut it, Tom."_

_"Yeah, okay, I'll talk to him..."_

But Tom hadn't found the courage. And now, just hours before they were set to take off on the Patriots plane to Nashville to face the Titans, he knew he was in a real sticky spot. Danny  _couldn't_ go with them. Not only would he be forcibly ejected from the plane, but there were a lot of snakes in Tennessee and he wasn't sure how his friend would handle that. The last he heard, even Malcolm Butler was a snake, now.

"That's so weird. Why the hell won't he  _respond_ to me?" 

Tom shrugged. In truth, he hadn't even bothered to reach out to Jules all week. He'd seen him in practice, obviously, but other than that, it was in and out of the locker room for number 11. Tom couldn't help but notice all the healthy food he'd posted in addition to various photos of himself and teammates. One, in particular, of him and Gronk, had caught Tom's eye. Julian's  _junk_ had been clearly visible beneath his pants.

"I don't know. I'll talk to him, though. Danny?" Tom asked, not giving Danny any room to talk. "You need to go back to Miami, man. Aren't you missing like-- loads of practice? You should be with your team. I'm sure they'll understand about Olivia."

"THEY WON'T!" Danny shouted. It echoed off the walls of Tom's car, causing the quarterback to flinch. "Sorry I just-- no one gets it, no one but  _you._ You are  _married_ to a model. HOW? TELL ME YOUR SECRETS."

Tom heaved a sigh. "I don't--"

"She broke my heart," Danny said, swallowing tightly. "And now-- Jules is just  _gone."_

"He's not gone, he's just been busy, meeting people..."

Danny glanced over at him, pain in his eyes. He fell completely silent for several moments. Tom stared back, his eyes searching Danny's as he tried his best to offer him silent comfort. He just wanted his friend to be okay, to feel okay. Things would get better, but he learned, over the years, to allow his younger teammates (even EX-teammates) the time and space they needed to heal from whatever was happening in their lives before they could focus on the field. As long as they were in laser-focus mode during the game, he would be there for them off the field. Danny, though, was different. 

"Gronk's not playing again?" Danny asked. 

"I don't believe so," Tom replied, frowning.

"Do you wish I had done what he did?"

"What's that?"

"Threatened retirement..."

Tom shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "Your contract was up... You know Bill.."

"He didn't want me..."

Tom's lips rolled between his teeth and he shook his head. He learned, over the nearly two decades that he had been a Patriot, that he couldn't speak for his coach. It could only result in something bad. 

"He didn't want me," Danny sobbed, throwing himself on Tom, sniffling against him.

Tom slowly patted his back.

* * *

 

Stephen Gostkowski sighed as his head fell against Ryan Allen's shoulder, a content smile on his lips. The Patriots plane was so comfortable and cozy and he was so,  _so_ BEYOND thrilled they allowed him and Jonathan Jones to switch seats so he could be next to his favorite punter. Their fingers laced between them beneath a soft, thin Patriots blanket as the plane rolled down the runway.

"Another game," he said quietly, peering up at the man he loved more than life itself.

"Another game," Ryan repeated, nodding. "Do you think we'll do well?"

"Oh, I know it. So long as one of those  _SILLY_ Titans don't  _rough the kicker_ like that  _jerk_ of a PACKER last week. Gosh, RyRy, I could've killed 'im! When I saw you go down I just--" Stephen gasped, clapping his hands over his mouth as he recalled the move. 

 "I'll be okay, man. At least we got a first down on a 4th & 21," Ryan pointed out. "Those new rules can really benefit us, eh?"

"Oh golly, yes! So glad that happened. So glad I didn't  _miss._ Gosh, Ryan. I'm so  _scared_ of MISSING. What if I am intimidated by those rotten Titans?"

"You won't be. You're good, Steve. So good," Ryan said reassuringly, his hand squeezing Stephen's. Stephen sat up, his dark eyes wide as he looked between Ryan's, smiling brightly. 

"I donno, Ryan. I dunno..." There was fear evident in Stephen's eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guys... i dont even fucking know what i wrote.   
> please note: this is FICTION. there is no firearms used in the NFL and i don't promote violence.   
> please heed the warnings on this entire fic.   
> im losing my mind it's official

The Patriot’s locker room mood was lower than it had _ever_ been before the evening after the Titan’s game. Not a single glimmer of optimism was anywhere to be seen. Tom Brady had been sitting on a bench, undoing his leg compress wrap when two masked Titans had manhandled him up and started leading him away from his locker.

“Hey—- You can’t do this to me!” Tom Brady roared as the Titan’s dragged him by the back of his shirt. Brady twisted and turned in, roughhousing against the two men pulling him, but their hold was too strong as they lugged him. “You’re not even allowed in here!?” 

But when the rest of the locker room came into focus, Tom realized that every single one of his team mates and coaches were being held at gunpoint by the Tennessee Titans. His eyes were huge. “Wh… what—-?”

“SHUT UP, BRADY!” Dion Lewis spat, bounding into view while madly waving a handgun. 

“Lewis?…” Brady whispered in horror. “No…”

“HELL YEAH, Son. That’s right. It’s me. Remember me?! I’m back, son! To give you whatchu deserved!”

Mike Vrabel smirked, twisting the pistol deeper into the soft flesh of Bill Belichik’s neck. 

Tom Brady blinked unbelieving. “Dion.. I tried to help you…”

“No you didn’t!”

“That time in the shower…” Brady whispered. “I tried, Dion… I knew you were sad…”

A flicker of something flashed in Dion’s eyes but he waved his pistol harder and jumped forward snapping himself out of it, “STOP! You NEVER cared about me! No way, naw… y’all done gone n made it personal. Hell yeah— it’s personal! That’s what happens when you go cheap! You get your ass kicked!”

“Or in this case… shot.” Mike Vrabel chuckled from behind Dion Lewis, cocking his handgun against Bill.

“ When  you win you  can  say  a lot of  things.” Tom Brady replied smoothly, effortlessly and unfazed. A pounding thunder cracked through the silence, shaking the stadium, one so loud it made every single person in the room jump except Tom Brady. (And Stephon Gilmore, who was used to that kind of thing. In fact, it caused Patterson to glance over at Stephon, impressed.) Brady’s game face on even as he was forced onto his knees before Dion Lewis. It thundered again, a low and distant rumble that matched the burning in Brady’s eyes. 

Something else flashed across Dion’s face then… fear. “You… you let yo team down tonight, Brady…” he paused, glancing up at the ceiling, paranoid it would thunder again. “AIN’T NOBODY gon’ help you now.” Dion stated firmly. 

Tom met Julian’s eyes, sending his wide receiver a silent plea for help. 

Julian returned a look that contained nothing at all. But, and then he looked away, unable to hold that kind of eye contact with his quarterback. Malcolm Butler’s bottom lip was trembling as he held a revolver to Julian’s cheek. 

Tom clenched his jaw, doing his best to hide the disappointment he felt in his team. 

Dion let out a boisterous laugh. “Take this goat for slaughter.”

 

* * *

 

The hallway was dark. Cold. The two masked titans dragged him further on. So far down the hallway that they even passed the Concussion Protocol room. Tom growled and yanked and pulled but the guards, even in human form, were extra strong due to the bodily enchantments they’d suffered from the Tennessee Titan’s shapeshifting curse. They were very strong, and Tom’s left knee could only take so much.

“Where are you taking me?!” Tom groaned as they dragged him along further, but the masked Titans kept silent. 

Finally they reached the room they’d been dragging him to. Brady’s heart dropped at what he saw. 

A room filled with strawberries and soda pop, cheeseburgers, pizza and regular ice cream. There was even coffee. The Titans thrust Brady head first into the room. 

Tom made an inhuman noise, and for the first time in years… he felt truly a pang of true terror. “ _Monsters_ …” he sobbed out, gentle and quiet, and all to himself. “You’re all _monsters_ …”

“LET GO OF MY QUARTERBACK!” Came a goofy, but loud demand that shocked the Titans enough for them to release their hold on Tom Brady. Tom immediately scrambled to his feet, immediately falling against a wall which he clung to for support. 

Gronk hurdled towards the makes Titans and gronk spiked them into a cheesecake. Brady had to look away. 

“I got you, Tom.” Gronk lifted Brady into his arms bridal style and carried him away from the oh so delicious room. But not even cheeseburgers and pudding could deter the dedication Gronk felt towards Brady. 

“What about the others?” Brady asked breathlessly. 

Gronk replied. “Mr. Fix-it, uh, I mean, Defense coach Flores showed up… he took care of it. He takes care of everything!”

A weak smiled formed on Brady’s lips before he passed out. (The strawberries had been too much.) 

 

* * *

 

“It’s going to be a long ride home.” Julian had told the reporters.

And the ride home _was_ long. Nobody said a damn thing to each other. 

Tom Brady was passed out in his seat, Slater next to him patting a cool washcloth over his forehead. Gronk had wrapped Brady in his favorite Patriots fuzzy blanket and explained to Slater how close Brady had come to a lot of junk food. 

Just overhearing the conversation caused Julian to feel choked up and guilty and awful. But he’d done NOTHING wrong. And this WAS NOT _his_ fault. Julian slunk in his seat, grabbing his Beats headphones and putting them on to silence the world around him. 

He thanked his lucky red gloves to finally arrive home, but the relief of crisp New England air against his skin didn’t hold a candle to the panic he felt upon seeing one Danny Amendola waiting for him at the airport. “Danny… what are you doing here?”

Danny Amendola frowned. “Can.. can we hang out and talk?”

 

* * *

 

Sunday, November 11th of 2018, was an excellent day for New England Patriots haters,  specifically Tom Brady haters . States all across the country celebrated the blowout defeat, all kudos to the Tennessee Titans. Little did the country know how much Brian Hoyer had to do with it...

Mike Vrabel clicked the safety off the gun he held right against Brian Hoyer's temple. Pressing the barrel's hole in against flesh for good measure, he rasped, "Our business is done with you, Patriot.”

Brian Hoyer snorted. "I'm _here_ to see Marcus Mariota." 

"So be it." Mike Vrabel lowered the gun, eyeing the firearm almost sadly; a missed chance to use it. 

Brian smirked and stepped past him into the Titans locker room. Inside there was dense forestation, creatures lurking in shadows every which were. Brian Hoyer knew the secret, knew these were the Tennessee Titans that his own team had just lost against. He nodded out of respect at a few of them. They nodded back, even in their animal forms. 

Suddenly a slim green snake slithered up his left leg. Brian let his eyes fall shut as the slithering creature made its way up around his chest. "Ssss....Patriotsss....." the snake hissed. "Sssock face..."

Brian opened his eyes. He knew his name when he heard it. "Hello, Mariota."

The snake unhinged its jaw, monstrous and wide. Brian did not blink, not even when a drop of venom leaked from the tip of the snake's tooth. Snapping its vicious mouth shut, the snake whipped away from Hoyer, unwinding mid air as it jumped to the ground. In the blink of an eye the snake transformed into Marcus Mariota. Brian immediately reached for the Marcus's hand and shook it firm. 

The two made appreciative eye contact with each other. 

"Thank you." Brian Hoyer's voice came heavy with emotion that Mariota picked up on instantly. He squeezed Brian's hand reassuringly and said with the slyest smile...

"No~... thank  **you**." A devious twinkle shone bright in Mariota's eye. "It was an honor to embarrass your quarterback. Nobody even saw me as I s-s-s-ss-sslithered between Tom Brady's feet. My green ss-s-skin blended in PERFECTLY with the turf and he tripped on ss-ssseemingly nothing, JUST as we planned he would. Nobody even QUESTIONED it, just like you s-said they wouldn't." 

Brian Hoyer nodded. "I knew this game would be a perfect opportunity it, Mariota. All Brady will talk about is how bad he wants to increase his rushing yards to add that video to instagram. Now his moment of glory has been ruined, all thanks to you." 

"You are a brilliant ssspy." Mariota said to Hoyer. 

"Brady was benched by the end of the game, just like we planned. Even though won, I got to finally play in an actual game. As far as I'm concerned, we both won."

Mariota nodded in agreement. "We couldn't have made this arrangement without Lewis, though. perhapsss-sss, you should go and thank him as well."

Hoyer nodded, "Of course."

Hoyer turned just as Maroita swished back into a snake, slithering away to disappear into one of the locker room bushes. It took a minute to find Dion Lewis. The other was now cursed to be a bird. He chirped and chirped until finally, he transitioned into his human self. "Hoyer." He greeted his former back up qb. 

Hoyer held his hand out but Lewis went in for a hug. The two embraced for a long moment, holding each other tight. It was a hug that only two under appreciated and underpaid men with a history on the Patriots could understand. "Hello, Lewis. I… miss you. And I want to thank you for reaching out to me… for what you gave me tonight.”

“My brother… I knew you wanted revenge against the Patriots just as much as I did.” Lewis growled. 

“I can’t believe it worked!” Hoyer finally broke the hug, but the two still held onto each other with their hands. “I was out on the field by the fourth quarter. Brady was humiliated about being benched. He even cried in the locker room.” 

“You played well for those few minutes you were out there, Hoyer. Brady played horribly all night, it made you look like a star.” A dark and prideful glint shone in Hoyer’s eye as Dion Lewis continued. “And our team… we really needed that win. _I_ needed that win. We helped each other tonight.”

“Yes, we did.”

The two men embraced again, holding on for dear life as Malcolm Butler (in giraffe form) spied on them from behind a tropical vine covered corner, head turned and neck stretched to see what was what. He withdrew back into concealment, and galloped away, hooves transforming into his own human feet as he increased in speed.

 

* * *

 

Sneaking out of the Tennessee Titan’s locker room had proved a challenge; Malcolm Butler had nearly gotten lost his life from setting off laser light security traps that would have set off both an alarm system as well as a machine gun spray of bullets. The gun control practice that took place in the Tennessee Titan Stadium was nothing if not ridiculous, but Malcolm Butler had intercepted every attempt at getting caught.

He began to run. He ran like his life depended on it, not letting a damn thing stop him. Through the many dense forests he ran, pummeling through knee deep rivers when he had to and swimming when the depths pulled him under. He did not stop, braving any and all weather — wind, rain, snow and lightening — wearing nothing except his Titan’s uniform. The air punched his lungs, but he carried on. 

It took about 3 days to run from Tennessee to New England on foot, and when Malcolm arrived he went straight for Gillette Stadium, straight to the only man who he _knew_ for sure would listen to him. (If only he’d realized that the Patriots were still at the Tennessee stadium the night he’d found out about Hoyer, he would’ve been able to catch them before they got onto the Patriot’s plane.) 

“Malcolm?” Julian spun around. He’d said Malcolm’s name before he turned, somehow having sensed that the other was coming up behind him.

Malcolm stood there winded, body limp against the the energy it took to breathe. He tried to talk but his throat was too dry. 

Julian hurried over to grab some gatorade for the guy, stumbling because he was so shocked! He rushed back to Malcolm’s side and grabbed his chin, pouring some of the gatorade into his mouth “Speak, my brother…”

There was that word again. _Brother_. 

Malcolm drank the gatorade, nearly collapsing from the relief his body shivered with. Julian caught Malcolm and helped him to his feet, holding him up right and studying him concernedly. They embraced just like they did after the game that day. 

“You’re a good man, Julian Edelman.” Malcolm sputtered, finally regaining his posture. 

“Thanks, man,” Julian said very seriously. “So are you; nothin’ but respect- you know that.”

“I do. That’s why I came. I have to tell you something… please, please _believe_ me. It’s Brian Hoyer.” 

Julian’s eyebrows shot up, “What is it?”

Malcolm thought his his chest would implode. Was he making a mistake by betraying his own team? …But Dion Lewis was being so cruel.

“Malcolm!?” Julian insisted.

“This must stay between us, Julian. But I saw something.”

“What did you see?” The look in Julian’s eyes were so devoted that Malcolm couldn’t hold back any longer. Before he told Julian everything he saw he said one more time…

“Please make sure this stays between us.”


	17. Entering the BYE.

Tom Brady slowly stepped out from behind the waterfall of dark, green liquid. It streaked down his bare body, drenching his hair. Slowly, he licked his lips, absorbing the vitamins that lingered on his lips. The grass-like flavor of cold-pressed, certified-organic, locally-grown, non-GMO,  fresh green juice was almost overwhelming.

But he  _needed_ this. After being confronted with a mountain of Doritos, an ocean of Coca-Cola, and worst of all, a buffet of fried avocado and cheese tacos, he  _required_ lots of vitamins and nutrition. 

Alex Guerrero held out a light, blue towel. Tom shook his head and held up a single hand.

"Save it," he said. "I need to absorb this."

Alex nodded just once and stepped back, slinking into the dark shadows of the quarterback's bathroom. 

Tom inhaled deeply and walked to mirror, straddling the sink with two hands. If he'd chosen beet juice, he would look downright  _creepy._ As it was, the liquid dripped down his face and neck, tickling his skin and making him look part-Hulk.

He took a deep breath.

Bye week was about rest and relaxation, but he wasn't sure he would have enough time for that luxury. 

* * *

Julian's legs were spread apart and he leaned forward, resting on his elbows as he fiddled with his phone. His thumb swiping over the glossy screen. 

"Just fucking  _do it,_ man," Danny said. Julian flinched, his head jerking to the side to take in Danny's expression. There was something missing from his old friend's expression. He wasn't sure why the hell he was here, but honestly, it made him miss his fellow wide-receiver. Just being in his company, it reminded him of good times. Now, with  _LIGHTENING_ taking up the spotlight, he hardly had anyone to talk to about his frustrations. Danny, he'd gotten it. He had  _understood_ what it was like to be one of Tom's go-to. The rush that they widely received from being targeted by the goat's ball...

"Don't tell me what the fuck to do," Jules snapped. "What do you know of it, anyway?"

"Woah, Jules. Not the enemy here."

"Aren't you? Dolphindola."

Danny flinched. "C'mon, man."

Julian's jaw ticked beneath his bushy beard and he scratched at his head. His newly cut hair felt weird, leaving his scalp bare and chilly. 

"Sorry. Don't mean to be so defensive."

Danny released a nervous laugh and squinted. "Just do it, man. Just text him. If I had the chance to make things better with Liv.."

"Dude. That was a messy breakup."

Danny looked on the verge of a breakdown and Julian looked like he immediately regretted saying anything. 

"It was," Danny murmured. "It _was_."

Julian looked away, his eyes gluing to the illuminated screen in his hands. His fingers began typing a message before he could stop himself.

 **Julian -- > Tom: **Hey man. Any plans for the Bye?

* * *

"In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun."

Josh Gordon popped his finger back into the socket without even flinching. It was six AM, three days into the Bye, and he hadn't missed a day. It was time. 

He laced up his favored pair of ice skates and stepped onto the slippery rink. "C'mon, Bill. Your grandkid will learn to skate if you do it with him," Josh encouraged, holding out two hands to Bill Belichick. His coach hesitated, but only for a moment. "Good. You're doing good."

Bill tentatively stepped onto the ice with feet that didn't quite seem as steady as his voice. "Fuckin' ice." 

"Open different doors. You may find a you there that you never knew was yours," Josh assured. "C'mon Bill. You can't be on the sidelines forever."

Bill nodded. "You're a real team player, Gordon. Real good. Real talented."

"And so are you!"

That was all the encouragement Bill Belichick needed as he pushed off onto the ice, skating forward with unsteady feet. Josh beamed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this. <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the patriots just beat the jets!!!!! callalloo wahhooughwee!! celebrate, celebrate come on and celebrate good times............. becuase it's good times..... right???.....
> 
> .... or is it?
> 
> bottom line is this: football players tend to be gay for each other. but the real question is.. just when you think you're gay for someone and they're gay for you... there's always someone else who is ALSO gay.

After letting yet another green juice shower soak into his skin Tom Brady felt much better. The nutrients had penetrated him better than any lover could. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but it was what Tom Brady often had to tell himself. 

The Jets were defeated; his game was back. There was no stopping him. 

* * *

Julian hated the wait that came with texting people. Why couldn't people just immediately respond? Ugh. He shot Danny Amendola a tired glance from his favorite recliner. "You thinking about heading back to Florida anytime soon, or...?"

Danny shook his head, content and certain as he sat on Julian's loveseat. 

Julian pursed his lips together sadly. And then an idea popped into his head. "If you don't go back you won't ever get a chance to open up the gift I sent you."  

This sparked a little interest in Danny's eyes, Julian could tell. But it also sparked something that looked like fear. "What did you send me?"

"Well, I can't just _tell_ you," Julian began, thinking on the spot, "Want you to go and be able to open it for yourself."

Danny looked hesitant, even upset. 

It bothered Julian, just the slightest. He couldn't deny that a piece of him wanted Danny to stay. Not just here in his room, but on the team. On the field. Julian missed having Amendola around _everywhere_. In fact, being here with Danny kind of hurt. The more time Danny spent clinging to Julian, the more Julian wanted to latch right back onto him all the same. Nothing about it seemed healthy. 

"Guess I better go back and find out what it is then, huh?" Danny asked, rising to his feet. "Even though, the greatest gift I can think of is just being right here with you, Jules-"

"Then why'd you leave?" Julian intercepted, unable to control his outburst. He stared up at Danny with wide eyes. "Why'd you leave if you wanted to be near me? Why'd you get back with Olivia if I mattered to you in that way? I can't understand, man -- HALF the things you do. I just don't get it. I don't even think you do."

"I don't!" Danny immediately shot back, standing awkwardly in Julian's living room. "I don't actually? Know if any of what I did was the _right thing_."

"Well that's not my concern anymore. But you know what _is_ my problem? Winning next week's game. And the one after that, which is the one my team is playing against YOUR team." Julian's heart pounded in his chest as he glared away from Amendola. The two of them should've been on the same team. After all this time it still didn't feel right. It never would, not for the remainders of both their careers, Julian just knew it. Julian breathed in slow, "You gotta go home and practice or something, right?"

"I dunno, man. It's not that important. My team isn't crazy about practice."

"Yeah well mine is. And you _know_ that." 

"C'mon Julian- do you hear yourself? I mean, how many years do we got left out there anyways?" Danny then said, his voice taking on a whole different tone. "Retirement is right around the corner for guys like us and you and I both know it. You can't tell me you haven't seen the way Josh is catching them throws. You can't tell me you haven't thought about leaving the league."

Julian's blood was boiling. He didn't know where to look anymore, but he couldn't meet Danny's eyes and that was telltale a sign as any. Danny had taken a step towards his friend. "It's okay, Jules. We had a good run."

"Are you serious right now?" Julian pushed up from his favorite recliner then, standing tall and meeting Danny's eyes, "Brady is _nine_  years older than us and going strong as hell."

"We're not _him_!" Danny countered, shrugging helplessly. " _Nobody_ is him. He's superhuman, Jules. Trust me,  you -- you don't want to get involved with that. I know you think you do, but.."

"You're literally the _last_ person who should be giving relationship advice!"

Danny looked hurt for a second but brushed it off. "Relationship? Is that what you'd call this thing between you and him." 

"Me and _Brady_?" Julian wasn't ready for wherever this conversation was going. "Yea, it is."

"It doesn't look like that to me. It looks like you're just trying to continue something that Brady moved on from when you were injured last season." Danny was being bold and Julian hated it. Julian hated how much it moved him. He hated how Danny's words were exactly what he didn't want to hear. 

"NO. THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Julian 


	19. Chapter 19

"No.... NO..... _**NO!!!!!!"**_

"What is it, meu amor?" Giselle sat bolt upright in bed, dabbing the sweat off of her husband's brow. His whole body thrashed in his sleep, his skinny legs kicking the covers and sheets off of him. "It's okay. It was just a dream."

"IT WASN'T."

Tom knew it wasn't just a dream. This had happened three times in his NFL career. Once, after the 2010 win in Miami when Randy Moss was inexplicably and suddenly traded to the Vikings and again just before Wes Welker failed to come to an agreement for a contract in 2012 and went to the Broncos. 

This time, Brady's dream reflected the sad and longing eyes of Josh Gordon. It was a split second, but that was all he needed. 

_"DO YOUR JOB. DO YOUR JOB. DO YOUR JOB." Belichick's voice echoed in his mind._

_"You find the fun and - SNAP - the job's a game!" Josh Gordon traveled through a mystical, magical ocean surrounded by sixteen beautiful bottle-nosed dolphins and a dancing seahorse. "My job here is done, Mr. Brady. The door has been opened. Spit spat, chin up. Enough is as good as a feast."  
_

_"Noooo!" Brady reached forward through a thousand bubbles and choreographed sharks swimming this way and that._

_But he was gone._

_Suddenly, he was in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and Julian was there._

_"He's gone, man."  
_

_"He can't be."_

_"He went to the place where lost things go. He'll always be with us," Julian said. A single tear escaped Brady's eye, and he nodded, trying to save face, trying to appear strong._

_"You have me. I'll do better for you."_

"TOM!" Giselle pinched her husband's side playfully. "Are you alright? Should I call your doctor? Alex?"

"No," he said, but she was already holding his phone. He reached uselessly, exhausted from the realization that Josh Gordon was gone. He just knew it was going to happen. Giselle swiped open his phone, revealing a selfie of him and the dog. "Don't look at--"

"Oh, meu amor. You are so cute," she said, leaning in to kiss his temple.

* * *

 _MIAMI MIRACLE - What Was Belichick Thinking?_  
DEVESTATION IN MIAMI: THE PATS ARE DONE.  
EX-PATRIOT CALLS TOM BRADY 'INSENSITIVE' FOR COMMENTS ON BRAIN TRAUMA  
TOM VS TIME? MORE LIKE TIME TO RETIRE!  
THE END OF AN ERA: How The Patriots Dynasty Fell  
DEVASTATING LOSS IN PITTSBURGH- How The Patriots Might Lose Shot At Playoffs  
PATHETIC DEFENSE IN NE: The Patriots Have Finally Fallen  
Finally, A Win For The Patriots: Bills 12, Pats 24: Why This Doesn't Mean Anything  
Patriots Defeat Jets & Become Second Seed

* * *

Julian hadn't spoken to Danny Amendola since the Miami-fucking-Miracle. Why Danny was taking  _any_ credit for that shit was beyond him. As far as he was concerned, Danny was just running on the field kind of nearby the "miracle" and had absolutely nothing to do with it. Whatever. 

Now he was back with Olivia to boot.

It seemed like the last joke was on him, though, because the Dolphins didn't even come close to the playoffs. 

Julian pulled his helmet on over his head and looked over at Tom.

"Hey, babe. You ready?"

"I was born ready. LET'S FUCKIN' GO!"

"LET'S GO!!!"

 

 

 


	20. Kansas City Candies - here we come...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh god. im gonna get drunk tomrorow durin this entire game.

Gronk closed his locker, gently. Practice today had been… well. It had been good. Brady rarely targeted him, but there were a few plays they’d practiced. Gronk knew his place, and he knew his quarterback, and he had zero complaints. No complaints. Just a job to do. 

Brady had been oddly distant lately. Gronk didn’t mind. He’d never been extremely _close_ to Brady, but usually the two were there for each other when the other needed him. (Usually it was Brady who needed Gronk.) But lately… Brady never needed Gronk.

Brady still smiled at him, still paid him compliments and smacked his ass. But things just weren’t like they were before. At first Gronk thought maybe because the squirrel was back. He knew how much his quarterback loved his squirrel friend and that made Gronk very happy. But… well… they’d played before, all three of them, together. And Gronk had never felt left out back then?

All he knew now was that he missed his quarterback.

He turned away from his locker and headed towards Brady. “Tom?” He asked.

Brady turned his head, not quite meeting Gronk’s eyes. “Oh- hey, man!”

“Can I grab you for a sec..” Gronk inhaled deep. His quarterback always smelled so good.

“Not now, buddy.” Brady said, though he sounded enthusiastic and not upset at all. “I just gotta go do something. I’ll meet up with you later, okay?” Brady finally turned around and smiled Gronk’s way.

Gronk blinked his eyes and tried for a smile back, but something felt off. Gronk could tell his quarterback was unhappy. He could just tell. “Okay, Tom.” Gronk said.

And the two of them smiled at each other for a moment before Brady patted him on the arm and moved past him. Gronk preened at the appraising touch. 

A rattle of bones sounded from his left, so Gronk turned. 

Gilmore struggled, dropping many bones as he tried his best to shove them into his locker. 

Gronk tilted his head curiously and hurried over. “Do you need help?”

“Uh.. um… uh…” Gilmore stammered, “Y-Yeah, sure…”

Gronk did his best to help shove all the dog treats back into Gilmore’s locker. “You must have a lot of pets!” Gronk gave a goofy laugh.

Gilmore furrowed his brows, “Thank you so much…” He said. And once all the bones were put away, he smiled at Gronk and said, “You know, man… I’m gonna miss you next year. It’s really too bad about how this could be your last game tomorrow.” 

Gronk’s expression dimmed. “What?…” He felt confused. 

Gilmore blinked his wide eyes, “UHH… I mean… I… Nothing. NOTHING.”

Gronk pouted and shrugged. “Okay…” He trusted Gilmore. Gilmore was a good guy. He wouldn’t keep secrets from him. 

Gronk decided to take off, leaving for the day. He wondered if maybe he could find the squirrel. Maybe the two of them could go grab some food or something. 

But the squirrel was no where to be seen.

“Hey, you.” 

Gronk spun around, plastering on a huge smile. “Heyyy, what’s up, Brian Hoyer?”

Hoyer visibly cringed. He seemed to cringe every time Gronk referred to him by his full name, but Gronk doubted he would ever stop calling him that. “Gronkowski…” Hoyer stated flatly. “I heard you and Gilmore conversing. Thought you ought to know — Gilmore is _lying_. Everyone knows tomorrow will be our final game of the season. In fact, they’re referring to it as your _funeral_.” The corner of Hoyer’s lips quirked into a wicked grin, but Gronk did not notice.

All Gronk could think about was that it all made sense now. He took off, leaving Hoyer rather confused.

 

* * *

 

Hoyer had meant to hurt Gronk… however Gronk didn’t even seem bothered. Hoyer did not understand…

 

* * *

 

“Brady….!”

Gronk scurried forward, reaching out for Brady as they all boarded the Patriot’s plane. Brady and Edelman were walking side by side as Gronk grabbed Brady by the hand. 

“Tom, please. Can we talk first. Before we get on that plane.”

Brady’s lips parted. He glanced to Julian who nodded.

“I’ll be on the plane.” Jules said, turning to head onto the Pats plane. 

Brady tugged Gronk aside as the rest of their team boarded the plane. “What is it, Gronk?”

Gronk breathed heavy for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to use his words. “I understand now — why you have been so sad.”

Brady narrowed his gaze, shaking his head, clueless. 

“You think tomorrow will be my last game.” Gronk said, as if it was a revelation. 

Brady shot a glance to the sky and nodded. “So that’s what this is about.”

Gronk searched Brady’s expression, hoping to find something there.

Brady licked his lips and looked back to Gronk. “Don’t be ridiculous, Gronk. Of course I don’t think that.”

“I can tell you’re sad, Tom.” Gronk licked his lips and sounded so sure. “I can _sense_ it.”

Brady huffed a sardonic laugh and shook his head again, avoiding Gronk’s eyes he said, “No! That’s crazy, Gronk. I have full faith that this game will go perfectly well —“

“Tom,” Gronk grabbed Brady’s shoulders and forced their eyes to meet and suddenly Brady’s smile vanished. His expression darkened instantly, and all he could do was blink his eyes. 

The cold New England air bit at them both as they stood outside of the Patriots plane, but Gronk held onto Brady’s shoulders tight. “It’s okay, Tom. It’s okay if this is our last game.”

“No, it’s not.” Brady stated darkly, but now there were tears in his eyes. “It’s not.” He added, voice cracking. “Rob…”

Gronk’s breathing had slowed down — _this_ felt right. This felt honest. “You were pushing me away…”

“Rob…”

“And it’s okay.” Gronk nodded eagerly, “I understand why you were doing it. You’re protecting yourself from getting hurt. But Tom…if this is it for me, then I want you to know it’s okay. You can push me away all you want if it helps you. Cause I _want_ you to keep going for another five years. And I want you to know that you will _always_ be my quarterback. No matter what.”

Brady’s expression began to twist with his emotion, and when he tried to look away it only made it worse. So he forced his gaze down and bit his lip. Gronk could see how hard Brady was trying to keep his emotion in check. He kept silent.

It pained Gronk. “I just needed to tell you this here. In our home. Because when we get back, it might be too late.” 

Brady struggled out of Gronk’s grip and pulled the big guy into a huge hug. Gronk sighed in relief to feel his quarterback’s arms around him. “We’re gonna do our best out there, you hear me?” Brady’s voice was strained. Gronk held on tighter. "We're all we've got. We're all we need."

Patterson cleared his throat. “Guys, uh… not to interrupt, but we’re sorta waiting on you two..” Patterson glanced around then, rather awkwardly and then dove back into the Pats plane where he was no longer in sight.

 

* * *

 

Patterson sunk into his seat next to Gilmore. The two looked at each other.

“Yeah, they’re havin’ a moment out there.” Patterson told Gilmore beneathhis breath.

Gilmore nodded. “I feel so bad, man. I accidentally said something to the Gronk earlier. I’m scared I hurt him.”

“I really don’t think it’s possible to hurt the Gronk.” Patterson patted Gilmore’s knee. 

Gilmore’s eyes dropped to the point of contact and heat blossomed across his cheeks. “CP…”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry about Gordan.” Gilmore swallowed hard, blinking as butterflies betrayed him in his gut. He felt pathetic, having to console his crush for losing their crush. 

“It’s fine.” Patterson said. “Gordan wasn’t the type… that you could just _be_ with, anyways. He just came in when we needed him and left as soon as we didn’t… it’s almost weird.” 

Gilmore nodded, listening to Patterson vent. 

Patterson went on, “It’s as though he just… literally flew in outta no where. Like he just… fell outta the sky, but gracefully like with an umbrella or something. And he helped us get our shit together and now he’s just… gone.” 

“I know.” Gilmore said, lips pulling together tight. “He helped us.”

“He really did.” Patterson sighed, and the lost look on his face broke Gilmore’s heart. 

Gilmore turned away from Patterson and stared out the window. “We’re going to be okay, CP.” 

“I hope you right, boy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Julian watched as Brady sat down beside him. (He and Slater had agreed to switch for this ride.) The older man pressed a hand down the side of his face, clearly stressing. Julian watched as Gronk took his own seat on the other side of the plane. Julian didn’t have to ask. He knew. He just knew.

Nobody could see the way Jules propped his elbow into the armrest between them and held his hand out, palm up. Nobody could see the way Brady slid his own hand over Julian’s, entwining their fingers, palms pressed together. Julian locked his hold on Brady and squeezed. No words were needed.

Because truth be told, losing Gronk, if that is what this came down to, would hurt Julian too. Maybe not as much as it would hurt Tom, but all the same. Flying to Arrowhead Stadium felt like they were all flying into Mount Doom. 


	21. SUPER BOWN 53. HERE. WE. COME!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE ARE HEADING TO ANOTHER SUPER BOWL! FUCK YESSSSS!!!!!!!!

"I DIDN'T FUCKIN' TOUCH THE BALL!" Jules spat, waving his arms at the referee. 

His heart had  _leapt_ to his throat, slamming against his Adam's apple. Half of him wanted to throw punches, the other half was ready to fall to his knees and throw up. The call on the field... it  _had_ to be overturned. He couldn't...

... His eyes found Brady's. There was a look of annoyance and disappointment, and deep down in that sad, sad gaze of his, he was fairly certain  _anger._

His third straight Super Bowl was on the line. His chance at a sixth ring was on the line. If Jules had somehow  _blown_ this... he was not sure he would forgive himself. 

Julian removed his helmet and scratched at his beard. If he lost this for them, he'd shave his fucking beard right in the locker room and donate the clippings to a homeless man.

... _wait, no, he wasn't thinking straight._

BUT HOW COULD HE? The  _look_ in Tom's eyes. 

Josh McDaniels' grasped his shoulder, squeezing it tight. Julian wasn't sure if it was in sympathy or what, but he was agitated. He shrugged coach off, his eyes glaring towards the replay in the screen.

"It didn't fucking touch me," he mumbled. "It  _didn't."_

It was almost like Super Bowl 51 all over again when his thumb  _saved_ the game. Was it going to cause them to lose it now?

Finally....

Ten fucking minutes later...

The ref marched onto the field. 

"The ruling on the field that the ball touched the player and was recovered by Kansas has been overturned...." the rest of what he was saying was muted by the sounds of  _boos_ from the stadium. His heart stopped in his chest as a wave of relief consumed him.

It was going to be okay.

* * *

Tom's eyes scanned the field. The play route they planned was going to work. Julian was open and his arm drew back before extending, launching the ball in a perfect arc. It spiraled through the cold, frigid air at Arrow Head. The ball slipped through Julian's fingers and...

NO!

NO!

NO!

_Interception._

* * *

Julian watched the ball sail past his fingers. Tom overthrew by a few inches but he  _should have_ leapt a little higher. Should have caught that ball, should have had it in his hands for a first down and then some.

His worst nightmare had come to fruition.

The stakes were too high.

He fucked up. 

His heart shattered.

* * *

Mahomes rubbed the head of the tiny man he purchased for good luck, his eyes wide with delight as he witnessed the interception from the sidelines. There was a madness behind his eyes. Oh, the ecstasy that ran through his body! Fingers raked through the tiny man's hair, grasping it hard before he yanked his helmet on and waddled out onto the field, sucking on his pacifier.

* * *

Tom's knee hit the ground, ending the regular game. 

Another overtime.

So be it.

* * *

"Heads!" Matthew Slater chimed in, smiling big. He was filled with optimistic delight (and his mom's lucky soup that she sent him to warm his bones during halftime) as the silver coin flipped through the air and landed at the ref's feet.

"Heads it is. What will it be!"

"WE WANT THE BALL!" Slater said, a little more loud than he was accustomed to. He immediately felt bad and touched the ref on the shoulder as an apology for shouting. He reached over to shake the Kansas City Candy's hand, but the fella wouldn't budge. Slater's lips pulled into a frown, his brows knit. "Hey! That's not good sportsmanship!"

"Ah, fuck off," the guy mumbled, causing Slater's face to warm.

* * *

_Third and ten_. 

CAUGHT.

_Third and seven._

CAUGHT.

_Third and ten._

CAUGHT.

They were down to the goal line, just four yards away. Rex Burkehead took a deep breath and closed his eyes as they lined up, his heart skittering in his chest. 

"SIR!" Rex had shouted in the huddle. "YOU CAN COUNT ON ME, SIR!"

Tom nodded, touching his shoulder. "Pass it to 34 to run it. Let's finish this." 

Rex's spine straightened and he marched to the line of scrimmage before bending low. 

 _This is like a 40 Mike-Mike,_ he thought.  _Pretend it's an air picket and use your crumb catcher if necessary. Just be FUGAZI about it, SIR._

The ball was in his hands before he knew it and Rex surged forward. Time slowed. His ears rang. His feet dug into the turf, cleats digging into the ground as he pushed against red jerseys and... and... and...

TOUCHDOWN!

He saw nothing. Heard nothing. 

Then...

...Brady's arms.

* * *

Gronk lifted the tiny man off the ground as Mahomes rushed off the field, high-fiving his fans on the way to the locker room. He lost, but big fella WON! Gronk Gronk-spiked the tiny man into the ground and let out a  _whoop._

"Told you it wasn't our last game!" Gronk shouted as Brady's helmet collided with his, a big smile on his quarter back's face. "I  _told you!"_

Tom beamed. "You sure fuckin' did, babe! You sure did."

A single tear escaped Tom's eye and he hugged Gronk as tight as he could, his eyes closing. 

He was home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Super Bowl Week

Bill Belichick rose a white porcelain mug to his lips, sipping his coffee. Black, no sugar, hot as fire. He looked out over the frigid but serene Atlantic Ocean. It appeared undisturbed, like not a single Dolphin was beneath the surface. It was January, though, and January was when the Dolphins disappeared until September. 

In an hour, he'd leave for Gillette for the send-off party; a nod to the fans before they boarded the Patriot Plane out of TF Green and jet set to Georgia. For now, he was going to reflect...

* * *

SEPTEMBER 10, 2018.

 **BILL BELICHICK -- > **Wow, man. Great game, great game. Really explosive defense. I'm impressed. -BB  
**SEAN MCVAY -- > **Your honor? Oh wow. I am... so very... humbled, your grace. Thank you. Thank you very much. 

SEPTEMBER 16, 2018.

 **BILL BELICHICK-- > **Another great game. Really good work. Your defense is fantastic. -BB  
**SEAN MCVAY** \-- > Wow, thank you again, sir. That really, really means a lot to me. I don't even know what to say. This is going to be framed.

SEPTEMBER 23, 2018.

 **BILL BELICHICK-- > **What can I say? You're possibly the best team in the league this season. You're going to go all the way. -BB  
**SEAN MCVAY -- > **This is an honor coming from you, sir. I could say the same about your team.  
**BILL BELICHICK-- > **No, this year is not our year. It's your year. You've just got an incredible team. 

Each week, it was more of the same. Bill had given that sweet peanut, Matthew Slater, his phone to reach out and congratulate Sean McVay for each and every Rams win. It was _strategic_. The youngest coach in the league. An inexperienced Quarter Back. 

And Brandin Cooks. 

After negotiating with McVay, he traded Cookie, and he knew what his next move was. 

Build in this youngster's confidence. 

Get to the Super Bowl.

And the rest would be history.

* * *

"HALLELUJIAH I MADE IT!"

Brandin Cooks squinted at the silhouette in the window. Fortunately, unlike the Patriots, the Rams allowed each player their own room at the hotel. It was a different culture, more driven by money and luxury. But this, with James Harrison, was something he missed. 

He slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"James? Man, it's been a while," he said.

"I KNOW!"

"What are you doing here?"

"I COME TO TELL YOU SOMETHIN'! BUT-- ALL HELL'S BROKEN OUT IN PITTSBURGH!"

Brandin rose his index to his lips, trying to hush James, though a part of him knew it was no use. James only had one volume. He just hoped Gurley or Donald wouldn't wake up.  _They_ were.... not to be woken. He swallowed tightly as James started talking about Pittsburgh again, unsure what the hell he was going on about and how this was relevant to him during Super Bowl week. It was weird being back at the Super Bowl, a second year in a row. This time without James and without the Patriots, but against them.

"BIG HOMELESS BEN BE STIRRIN' UP ALL KINDSA TROUBLE IN PITTSBURGH! YOU NEVA WANNA STEP FOOT OVA THERE! I THOUGHT I WAS IN THE CLEAR, SWITCHIN' TO NEW ENGLAND THEN... RETIRIN' BUT BOY WAS I WRONG! YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW, BRANDIN. YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW!" he was shouting and Brandin was sitting up in his bed. His shirtless chest was exposed to the cool temperature he slept in. Ever since living in New England, it appeared he needed colder weather all around. Life was difficult in LA to say the least. Sometimes, he knew he'd prefer to be dealing with James Harrison constantly than Sean McVay and Ted Rath constantly doing the tango on the sidelines. 

"YOU DON'T EVEN WANNA KNOW WHAT LEVEON BELL BEEN SAYIN' OH NO YOU DON'T!"

"No, man. I don't. What's up?"

"I COME TO TELL YOU. THE PLAN. IT'S NEARLY TIME!"

"The plan?" 

Brandin had nearly forgotten. It'd been months since he'd seen James, since before he moved to LA. 

"THE PLAN."

James had Brandin's attention now. He shoved the covers off of his bed and got up, ready to hear James out.

* * *

Aaron Donald snapped his whip against the locker room wall with a wild laugh. 

"That's RIGHT, baby, daddy comin' for you!" he cooed, releasing a sharp laugh. He tugged on the leather straps of his thong and wiggled his hips. Todd Gurley was on the floor before him on his hands and knees, a gag in his mouth. He was almost entirely nude save for a very skimpy pair of underpants that clung to his massive muscles.

Todd pretended to shiver in fear, but a smile curled on his lips. He watched his master with a need in his eyes. Aaron was all muscle, his big, strong body glistening with oil beneath the harsh lights of the locker room. Aaron wore an off-center leather, black hat and a matching choker. He slapped his whip quite suddenly against Todd's bottom and Todd released an anguished groan. 

"Who's your daddy?"

"Ru rr," Todd drooled against the gag.

"I can't hear you!"

"Ruu!"

Aaron's massive hand wrapped around Todd's head, undoing the latch of the gag and allowing it to fall to the floor. "Me?"

"Yes, sir," Todd said darkly, licking his lips. Aaron knew how much he loved to be shamed, to be beaten like this. A smile spread across his lips.

"That's right. I'm your daddy. Remember that."

He shoved his cock right in Todd's mouth and listened to the happy whimper from the back of his throat.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry about this.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We won the Super Bowl. 
> 
> Julian Edelman earned MVP. 
> 
> All's well that ends well... right? Just a little gayness. you know how it do.

_"WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!"_

* * *

 Tom smiled, a warm fondness filling him as he thought back to the way he and Julian had stood side by side on the field after their Super Bowl win, screaming it out in unison. Felt like he was 12 years old again. And what a _great_ thing to feel. So much better than the hideous reality of his actual age. 

"Sure you don't want some dole whip?"

Tom shook his head at Julian as they walked together through the park. Jules was so happy, and it made Tom happy to see him so carefree. So _eager,_ still hyped with excitement from last night. Jules was really living in the moment, radiating joy and excitement that Tom felt badly about not quite being able to match.  Didn't stop him from trying though. He played along with Julian's desires to go on rides and play around, he even posed for pictures. But something didn't feel right. Maybe he was still processing. ~~Maybe he _was_ getting old~~.

Jules had his phone out again and Tom felt a little relief about that. Jules had his phone out so often these days- it used to annoy him a little but now he depended on it; those few moments when he could escape the weight of Jules's attention. (And that sorta made him feel guilty too.) 

It wasn't all bad, though. He and Julian were in as best a place as they'd _ever_ be, he supposed. Maybe that's what sucked about it though. That _this_ is all they'd ever have. Six rings. 42 years old come August 3rd. Another season. It was everything and nothing.

No matter what, Tom still had 9 years on Julian. Christ, _9_  years, plus an entire family. Sometimes it hit Tom, and usually all it took was a distraction to get his mind off it. Practice. A pliability session. Watching tape. But usually he needed to get away from Julian for it. Today that wouldn't be possible. 

"I can't stop posting shit!" Jules laughed, slipping his phone away. Tom laughed back, and said _me too_ , and they moved onto the next event. But in the back of his mind, he wondered how Jules dealt with it. 

What did it mean that Julian wasn't as upset as Tom was that they couldn't have more than this? 

* * *

It wasn't until 9:30pm when Tom and Jules were able to board the private jet flying them back to New England. They were both wrung out from the last few days. Tom couldn't be sure about Jules but he knew his own adrenaline rush from it all was finally dying down. 

"I need this," Tom mumbled, pouring himself a shot of straight up TB12 electrolytes. 

Julian's eyes widened for a moment as he watched Tom's throat ripple with the electrolytes. Jules had never been able to take a shot of electrolytes without gagging; it was too harsh for most people's throats, Tom understood. All he could think about, however, was the conclusion he'd come to; that maybe Jules didn't care that they could never be more than this. That there's was just another affair, just like any other. Lombardi knew, Tom had had his fair share of affairs and he was sure Julian did too. But fuck if Julian wasn't the best he'd ever had, maybe even all he'd ever want. "You wanna try?" Tom offered Jules his shot glass. 

Julian shook his head, "I dunno how you do that. No way."

"It's been a long week..." Tom said as he poured himself another. 

"Hey, hey--woah there... slow down..." Julian reached out and placed his hand down on Tom's wrist, stopping him, knowing Tom's limits better than he did his own. "You okay?"

Tom flinched at being stopped, refusing to meet Julian's eyes for a moment. 

"What's wrong?" 

Tom released a heavy sigh. "Nothing."

"Don't lie to me." 

Tom smiled weakly, shaking his head just a little. "Everything's perfect, Julian." 

The confusion was clear as day on Julian's face. But Tom didn't have it in him to have this conversation. Not right now.  ~~Not ever~~. 

"I'm just really thankful." Tom said. 

At least that made Julian smile. "Me too." 


	24. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE PLAN has happened. It's done. It's complete. <3 <3
> 
> By the way, 6 rings.

Brandin Cooks sat on the edge of a love seat in a swanky hotel room in West LA. ESPN replayed the highlights of the Super Bowl for the millionth time.

Tom Brady's first throw of the game resulting in an interception. Kyle Van Noy's sack on Goff. Gostkowski's field goal miss. 

And then....

He could still feel it. He'd gotten himself wide open in the end zone. Was right by the field goal. But Goff was taking too long. The ball sailed through the air in a perfect arc. He'd thrown it just right. It soared right into Brandin's awaiting arms. His heart jumped to his throat but just before he could secure it, a white jersey flashed before his eyes. 

 [ C O L L I S I O N ]

The ball fell to the ground and number 30, Jason McCourty, was running in the opposite direction, bumping helmets with some of the other players. Brandin stared at the ball for just a few seconds before he jogged away, feeling light and free. 

He remembered, in that moment, glancing into the stands. Instead of seeing the excited faces of Patriots fans, his eyes caught a glowing, angelic force. It was dressed in all white, radiating a soft, vibrating glow. It was like he'd been kissed by an angel. Cooks could not look away. He could not and he would not. His eyes slowly came into focus on the center of the angel and there he was.

James Harrison.

As soon as he saw it, the figure was gone in the blink of an eye and Brandin ran to the sidelines, alit with something warm inside.

The next scene showed Brandin turning to jump into the air to catch a ball near the end zone, his body pivoting just as the ball came his way but then...

Stephon Gilmore leapt into the air impossibly high, his hands grasping the ball.

  [ I N T E R C E P T I O N ]

Cooks knelt down and began beating closed fists against against Stephon's sides. One, small chicken bone fell from Stephon's pocket, but otherwise there was no movement. He lay in fetal position, securing the ball like it was the most precious thing in the universe. It wasn't until his teammate ran over and began celebrating his huge play that Brandin stepped back, the same lightness returning to him then. 

Brandin watched the screen as it changed to some other plays, but his mind was back to the game. 

After the interception, he'd looked up into the stands to see the same, glowing angelic figure. This time, the figure was closer to the sidelines and this time, it stayed for several seconds longer. Long enough for Brandin to look it in the eye and see that familiar smile of James Harrison. 

James nodded in approval before he disappeared into thin air. Brandin smiled to himself, his whole body feeling light and free as he ran off for the next play.

The screen showed another play that was broken up by the Patriots. The next, Hightower sacked Goff. The next, the Patriots scored a touchdown, the only one of the game. Bless that rookie, Sony Michel. Brandin's only regret was that he didn't get to know him before leaving the Patriots. 

Then, there he was on the screen, running down the field as another ball came his way. He knew how this one would end. 

Before the ball could get to him, it was broken up by a Patriot. This time, Brandin remembered looking down the field to see James Harrison walking towards him in all his angelic beauty. Solid, white wings spread across his backside, beating slowly as he was by his side in impossible time. He reached out and touched Brandin on the shoulder with a heavy hand. 

"YOU DONE GOOD!" he shouted. Brandin smiled, tugging on his helmet mask slightly as he stared up at the angel-version of James Harrison. "IT BE WAY PAST OVER NOW. TOM BRADY GOT HIS SIXTH RING AND HE CAN FINALLY CATCH UP TO THE STEELERS! I CAN'T WAIT TILL HE SURPASSES THEM SONS OF BITCHES! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE OVER IN PITTSBURGH RIGHT NOW, AND YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW! TRUSTTTT ME!!!"

Brandin nodded, smiling. 

Then he was gone.

Brandin sighed deeply and sat back on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table for a few moments of silent reflection. 

They'd lost the Super Bowl, but... everything felt complete. 

He switched off the TV and slowly got to his feet to head into the bathroom. Brandin stared at himself in the oversized mirror above the sink. 

He double took, his heart speeding up in his chest so fast it hurt. "Holy shit, James!"

James Harrison stood over his shoulder, smiling brightly at his reflection. Brandin whipped around. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I CAME TO REWARD YOU!" James shouted. "THE PLAN IS COMPLETE! IT'S COMPLETE!"

"Finally," Brandin breathed, shaking his head. It had only taken one and a half full seasons for Bill Belichick's epic plan to come to fruition, but now that it was over, he could see it more clearly than ever before...

* * *

**February 2018. Two days before Super Bowl 51.**

Bill Belichick stared at the roster, his eyes on Malcolm Butler. 

"We can't let him play," he said darkly.

"Why?" Robert Kraft asked as Josh McDaniels leaned forward. Matt Patricia wasn't invited because Bill knew exactly what would come of that man. He'd head the lions. Let him win his game against them, enacting the Patriots Curse. That would show him. But for now, he had a Super Bowl to worry about.

"Everyone will think that's the reason we lose," Bill said. "But the reason we lose is because I call the shots."

Tom Brady stared across at him, his eyes squinting. He hated losing more than anything in the whole world, but he knew Bill was right. They needed to lose to complete the story. Their losses were always a part of the story.

A declining, old Quarter Back. An old coach who makes questionable calls. A dynasty over. No one would believe in them, and there was no greater food than doubt. 

"Butler is declining," Bill said. "He will be a nobody this time next year. Sad to say it, he was a great teammate, great player, but he's entering free agency. We'll lose him, Deon. Amendola..."

Tom flinched when he mentioned Amendola as much as he knew he was right. Amendola was done for, at least for next year. 

"Remember the Rams."

"Remember the Rams," Josh, Tom, and Robert repeated. They each put their hands in the center of the desk, igniting the Patriots Dynastic Charm. Blue and red and white sparks emitted from their stacked hands into the air, signifying that it worked.

 **December 2018. After the regular season**.

"Did you text McVay?" Josh asked as he and Bill walked, side-by-side, down a corridor at Gillette Stadium. 

"Yes. Well, Slater did," Bill amended, nodding once. "Curse my phone, I don't know how to use that piece of shit thing. Who puts no buttons on a phone? Isn't that the point of a phone? To have numbered buttons?" He shook his head, but at least Slater was good at compliments. If McVay had paid a lick of attention to anything, he wouldn't need a get-back coach and he sure as hell would realize that Bill Belichick was inept at technology. 

"Good," Josh said. "Playoffs here we come. You really think the Rams will beat the Saints?"

"Yes," Bill said. "We will be seeing them in Atlanta."

**January 2019. After the playoffs.**

"What a terrible call," Bill said, watching a replay of the Saints vs. Rams game. The fact that there was no pass-interference call to likely cost the Saints a trip to the Super Bowl would go down in history as one of the worst calls to ever be made in football. He knew no one cheated, though rumors were already abound. It was the Patriots Dynastic Charm at play, but it was simply a part of the universe as much as the stars and the moon. Even so, the entire NFL (with the exception of the Rams) were up in arms.

Good.

Beat down the over-confidence that Bill had helped to carefully build all season of that young coach. 

It was the perfect story. This whole season. It would make a great movie someday. Bill sure hoped Alex Baldwin would play him.

They'd lost to some mediocre teams. He'd put players in positions that they shouldn't have been in all season. Anytime they lost, it was done with just enough carefully planned mistakes to make it look like the Patriots were on the decline. Nothing int he whole universe was better than doubters, than haters. 

They'd face the Rams for the second time. Seventeen years after Tom's first Super Bowl. And they would win, he was certain of it. 

Now, the plan shifted into overdrive. They were flooring the gas, straight on a collision course towards their sixth ring. 

**February 2019. After the Super Bowl.**

Bill Belichick could feel the sticky, blue Gatorade dripping down his back as he embraced McVay in a mild hug.

"Really respect you," he muttered. As they got closer he spoke just loud enough for McVay to hear. "You were never going to win."

It happened so fast, he was certain McVay would wonder if he'd heard anything at all.

* * *

Danny Amendola sat on a duck boat in Boston two days after the Super Bowl victory. The parade was in full swing. He clutched a newspaper reading "SUPER BOWL 53 CHAMPIONS, BRINGING IT HOME TO BOSTON." A manic smile was plastered to his face. 

Danny waved enthusiastically, cheering as the fans waved and clapped and threw footballs and beer in every direction. He leapt into the air, excited to celebrate with his team for the third time as a WORLD CHAMPION.

When his feet landed on the duck boat, he stared around. Several tourists stared at him. The tour guide blinked rapidly. 

Danny took his seat.

"Sorry," he muttered. 

The duck boat continued into the water. A single tear escaped his eye.

What was he going to do?

 

 

 


End file.
